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1 lifted the doubloon high over the benevolent box, so that all could see it.” (Page 32.) 




JACK’S CAMm PIGEONS 


A TALE OF THE TIMES OP 


FATHER TAYLOR’S MARINERS’ HOME 


By HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH 

Author of 


“BORDENTOWN STORY-TELLERS,” “ZIGZAG JOURNEYS,” 
“STORY OF THE HYMNS,” “LOG SCHOOLHOUSE 
ON THE COLUMBIA,” “ IN THE BOYHOOD 
OF LINCOLN,” ETC. 


j ) ’ 


BOSTON 

i. I. BRADLEY & CO 


^ V 






THE LltthARY OF 

ooNeriEss, 

Two Cot'icJS Rtoiiiveo 

j ri !®RS 

H WiM^ 6?«tOV 

X0-i\0t 

-tso. 

/ ■] r t 1- 
COPY 8, 



Copyright, 1900, 

By a. I. BRADLEY & CO. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. “ Holiday Home.”— The Pigeon 9 

H. The Hidden Farm, or Old Captain Fayer- 

weather’s Pocket-piece.' 16 

III. Jack. — The Poet’s Stories.— Frau Susanne 41 

IV. The Lone Pigeon 45 

V. Jack’s Kindergarten Sunday-School — Father 

Taylor’s way of Preaching as Described by 

Charles Dickens 75 

VI. “ The Smoke in the Snow Bank ” .... 89 

VH. A Thanksgiving Story — The Little Red Squirrels 

on the Roof. 105 

VHI. Thanksgiving. — The Poet’s Tale 124 

IX. “ Think and Thank.” — How the Merchant found 

his Health Again 133 

X. “ The Kindergarten Woman ” comes to see Jack. 

— Kindergarten : The Story of “ The Loneliest 

Man in the World ” 144 

XI. The Queer Little Maid that saw Lights o’ Nights. 176 

XH. Captain Pigeon’s Story 217 

XHI. The Rhyming Riddler 234 

XIV. Jack’s Kindergarten Christmas. — Presents Made 
of Shells. — An Extraordinary Gift. — The 

Queer Brakeman 242 

XV. A Mystery. — The Pigeon comes back. — A Wreck. 266 

XVI. The Poet and Jack 271 

XVH. A Flock of Doves 277 

XVHI. A Cat in the Pigeon-house 281 

XIX. Ship Pigeons. — The Last Message 285 



PKEFACE. 


I AM a believer in the kindergarten school which 
seeks to develop the heart, conscience and imagina- 
tion of the child. Moral education is the need of 
the age, to make it a nobler generation of men. 

I wrote The Bordentown Story-Tellers ’’ to illus- 
trate in a popular way some of the features of the 
Swiss kindergarten and its parable stories. I have 
a like purpose in this book to show how to form a 
kindergarten Sunday-school, and I know of no more 
suitable place for a part fiction of this kind than the 
old North Square, Boston, in the days of Father 
Edward F. Taylor and the work of the Port Society. 
Father Taylor was the children's friend, and a 
natural story-teller. 

Father Taylor was a preacher to all Boston. Em- 
erson, Hawthorne, Ware, Sumner, Phillips, and the 
most cultured people were to be found in his sailor 
audience, and Elizabeth Palmer Peabody, Grand- 
mother Boston,’’ Saint Elizabeth,” the founder of 
the Swiss kindergarten in America, was among its 
friends. Even Jenny Lind when in Boston went 

5 


6 


Preface. 


to hear good Father Taylor preach, as did Charles 
Dickens, from whom we quote a notable description 
of the sailor preacher and of his methods of illus- 
trating truth. 

The recent attention given to the view of an 
eminent Boston preacher, that little animals and 
birds should be given the freedom of the primary 
schoolroom — that they should be permitted to be 
little teachers there — suggested to me the character 
Jack. The associations of little animals make the 
child considerate and humane, which principle it is 
the aim of the book to illustrate, after Frobeks idea. 

I write the book in the indirect way of interpolated 
stories. Sailors’ stories usually find readers, and 
in Father Taylor’s day the Mariners’ Home in old 
Horth Square was a resort of many story-tellers 
from the sea. Many of these wayfarers’ stories 
must have had a charm to them, for they related 
unusual eveuts. 

Father Taylor had a pigeon-house in the tower of 
his church or roofs of his buildings. The pigeons 
were his brothers; they seemed to know the heart of 
the kindly old man. A pigeon-house found a place 
in Trinity Cl iirch Tower, Boston, in the days of 
Phillips Brooks, and the irid^^^cent wings of the 
pigeons still glimmer in the air around the tower. 

The book suggests methods of forming kinder- 
ten Sunday-schools. Father Taylor’s work was full 
of the kindergarten spirit. It introduces Miss Pea- 


7 


Preface. — * 

body as a character of part fiction, giving the sub- 
stance of her views of heart education. 

While the book is in part fiction, Father TayloFs 
influence through his kindness to birds is a well- 
known legend of the old Worth Square, Boston. 

Miss Peabody’si work has found a monument in 
the Elizabeth Peabody House,’’ and indirectly in 
Charles Bank, where may be seen the kindergarten 
sand pens, and one of the most beautiful play- 
grounds in the country. Boston has become a kin- 
dergarten city. 

I am indebted to Bachellor’s Syndicate, Am. Press 
Association, “ Our Young People,” Young Peo- 
ple’s Weekly,” The Ladies’ World,” Success,” 
and Youth’s Companion ” for permission to use 
again some of my published stories. 

26 Worcester St., June 1900. 


The only 'preacher I heard in Boston 'was Mr. 
Taylor^ who addresses himself peculiarly to seamen, 
and who was once a mariner himself. I found his 
chapel down among the shipping, in one of the nar- 
row, old, water-side streets, with a gay blue flag wav- 
ing freely from its roof. In the gallery opposite to 
the pulpit were a littU choir of male and female 
singers, a violoncello, and a violin. The preacher 
already sat in the pulpit, which was raised on pillars, 
and ornamented behind him with painted drapery 
of a lively and somewhat theatrical appearance. He 
looked a weather-beaten, hard-featured man, of about 
six or eight and fifty ; with deep lines graven as it 
were into his face, dark hair, and a stern, keen eye. 
Yet the general character of his countenance was 
pleasant and agreeable. 

— Charles Dickens^ in American Notes.” 


JACK’S CAERIER PIREOKS. 


CHAPTER 1. 


HOLIDAY home/"' THE PIGEON. 

Near the middle of the nineteenth century there 
stood in North Square, Boston, a tall building called 
the Mariners’ Home. It was near Father Taylor’s 
Bethel, and was a part of the institution for sea- 
faring men that was largely sustained by the Boston 
Port Society. 

The home was the popular resort for sailors while 
in port. With it was connected a sea store. The 
merchants of Boston contributed largely to these 
charities, and Father Taylor’s Bethel became a 
popular church to which the rich and cultured as 
well as the seafarers resorted. 

But the body of the house,” as the middle aisle 
was called, was reserved for the seafaring men. A 
merchant in society dress one Sunday morning at- 
tempted to find a seat there, but was debarred. He 

9 


10 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


went home, put on a sailor^s suit, and was seated 
with the sailors', so democratic was Father Taylor 
whose rude eloquence and vivid rhetoric charmed 
the multitudes who filled the Bethel for many years, 
and whose unique and curious figures of speech were 
quoted throughout the country. 

Behind good Father TayloFs pulpit was a picture 
of a ship ixi distress weathering the storm. Father 
Taylor preached in sailor phrases, and quoted sea 
songs, as 

“ There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, 

To keep watch for poor little Jack.” 

He called the pulpit platform the quarterdeck,” 
and the church building a ship,” and he would refer 
to a dead sailor as one 

“ Whose body had gone under the hatches.” 

He had very liberal views; all denominations of 
Christians visited the Bethel, Catholics as well as 
Protestants. The sailor preacher had a common 
message for all. He was by association a Methodist, 
though he preached to the seafaring people of all 
denominations. 

Hothing like Father TayloFs sermons was ever 
heard in Boston. The ocean had been his teacher; 
he had been schooled in the storm. Words to him 
were pictures; stories, parables of life. He walked 
the platform like a sailor, but with Bible in hand. 


Holiday IloineP 


11 


His genius- was beyond any art. At a funeral 
where the widow of the deceased sat near the pulpit, 
he once exclaimed : O Lord, we are all widows 
to-day,’’ and he used to say : Where a good man is, 
there is heaven.” 

He probably had heard little of kindergarten, ex- 
cept, perhaps, through Miss Peabody, who was be- 
ginning her mission in Boston at the time. But he 
was a natural kindergartner ; he believed in the 
power of the illustration of truth; he loved stories, 
and he made stories live ; he made all things preach, 
in the way that Froebel made nature teach. 

He was a very kindly and charitable man, but 
could be sharp in reproof. Once when Jenny Lind 
was nresent, a man mounted the pulpit stairs and 
asked him: Would a man go to heaven if he were 
to die at one of Jenny Lind’s concerts?” He an- 
swered : A Christian will go to heaven, let him die 
where he will, and a fool will be a fool wherever he 
may be, even if it were on the pulpit stairs.” 

The holidays were great seasons at the Mariners’ 
Home, as we will call several buildings which sailors 
occupied. Sailors from all lands gathered there; 
stevedores warmed themselves by the Rowing fires. 
Old sailors related their best stories there. 

One year, when the Christmas snows were falling 
on the old Horth Square and Father Taylor’s 
pigeons had closed up their feathers and sat silent as 
birds of clay in the windy tower, an old mariner 


12 


Jade’s Carrier Pigeons, 


who had been seven times around the Horn said 
to the sailors and stevedores around the fire: 

‘‘ Here we are from all parts of the globe, and few 
are the ports that some of us have not seen. Let 
us tell stories of all our home lands — let each one 
tell the best story that he ever heard, after the man- 
ner of Scheherezade in the ^ Arabian Nights.’ ” 

And whom might that j)erson be ? ” asked a 
stevedore. 

Ah,” said the old sailor, and haven’t you 
heard ? The Sultan of India had a bad habit of cut- 
ting off the heads of his wives when he tired of them, 
and when he sought a new wife, he found the prin- 
cesses timid. But a vizier’s daughter said to her 
father : 

I will marry the Sultan, and he will not cut off 
my head. I will tell him half of an enchanting story 
one day, and promise to tell him the rest another 
day.” 

So she married the Sultan and did not lose her 
head. 

Let us tell stories to each other during the holi- 
days from Scottish Hallowe’en until the twelfth 
Night, and each story must have a charm and be so 
entertaining as to bring us all back again to spend 
our evenings here. We will burn driftwood that 
turns green and blue and red durin^r the story-tell- 
ing, and the story-teller shall sit on a red settle be- 
fore the driftwood fire,” 


^‘Holiday 


13 


There was an old clergyman in Boston who was a 
poet, and he liked to visit the sailors in their snug 
retreat. We will call him the Poet. 

He heard the good sailor’s proposal with much 
animation. 

I will tell you some stories in verse with gingles 
from time to time, Captain Silver,” for such was the 
sailor’s name. 

There was a Boston man present of a great heart 
named Pigeon, who had done much for the comfort 
of the Mariners’ Home. He clapped his hands on 
his knees, so as to make them chink, and said : 

Though I am a landlubber, I have some stories 
that I will slice in between the sea yarns and the 
poems. Let us call this place Holiday Home, from 
October to the Twelfth Hight, for I see that Cap- 
tain Silver holds to the old English terms.” 

It was agreed that except on Father Taylor’s 
prayer-meeting nights the sailors should tell stories, 
and the good Poet recite ballads with gingles,” and 
Landsman Pigeon should improve his gifts ” by 
legends of those who had traveled by land. 

So one night Captain Silver said : 

Let us set the red settle in front of the driftwood 
fire.” 

'I'he settle was placed, and an old sailor from the 
Sn -ish Main sat do^vn upon it, and the sparks flew 
un the flue of the chimney, red and yellow and blue. 


14 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 


The autumn was inclining towards winter. The 
wind from the sea blew through the square. 

The driftwood fire burned blue at first. 

The old Boston Poet came in and sat down among 
the sailors to see red the fire burn/’ as he said. 

At last the door opened, and Father Taylor him- 
self appeared, with deep, kindly eyes, and great spec- 
tacles on his forehead. 

He sat down before the fire, which began to roar, 
for the wood was seasoned as all ship wood is, and 
the air was dry and keen. 

Captain Fayerweather,” said Father Taylor, 
you are not much in port — ^you have weathered the 
Spanish Main on many a voyage. It should be your 
turn to tell a story to-night. You come from the 
Hidden Farms.” 

There were certain places in old Ipswich called 
the Hidden Farms” — farms on which the people 
of Boston town in early times might find a refuge 
in case of a French invasion. 

Captain Fayerweather punched the fire with a 
pair of brass tongs. 

Suddenly there was heard a flutter outside. 
Father Taylor turned to the window. 

There’s one poor bird out in the storm,” said 
he. Heaven pity the birds that get belated on 
the dark seas and have to alight on the mast.” He 
was talking in a figure as usual. 

He got up and opened the door and came back. 


Holiday IlomeP 


15 


bringing with him a pigeon with a broken wing. 
He turned to Captain Fayerweather. 

That bird/’ he said, seems to know that I will 
protect him. How? I cannot tell. Captain Fayer- 
weather, God is in that bird. Don’t you believe 
it?” 

I believe that God is in you, and the bird knew 
it. How did he get hurt ? ” 

I do not know. Heaven pity the wretch, if any 
human being wounded this poor bird. He looks 
queer. How don’t he ? Great rims around his eyes, 
just like mine.” 

He held the pigeon against his cheek and said: 

How, captain, tell us a story — I did not always 
feel so tender towards the birds — but I am another 
man now.” 

Another man ? ” said the captain. 

The latter clapped his hands on his knees, and 
said: 

Well, Elder Taylor, I will tell you a story of a 
man who became another man.” 

So the story-telling in the Mariners’ House began 
with the poor pigeon pressing its quivering wing 
against the face of Father Taylor. Captain Fayer- 
weather called the sailors’ friend Elder ” Taylor, 
after a manner of the time. 


CHAPTEK IL 


THE HIDDEN FARM, OR OLD CAPTAIN FAYERWEATHEr’s 
POCKET-PIECE. 

I AM going to tell you/’ said the old sea captain, 
holding out his hard hands towards the driftwood 
fire, which was burning green now, a tale of how 
one man became, as I said, another man. I 
love to visit this Snug Harbor when I am in town, 
and I sometimes tell this story, when I can find ears 
to hear me. 

Captain Fayerweather — my own name you see — 
lived in Ipswich town. He was a New Englander of 
the old type. He kept but one holiday, and that was 
Thanksgiving. He paid twenty dollars towards the 
minister’s salary, and he gave just one lonesome, 
companionless dollar to charity, and that was on 
Thanksgiving Day, when he would ride over to the 
church when he was in port, and make his blessed 
offering of all that one dollar to the poor. He had 
but one wish, which was to become a rich man, to 
make for himself an old age of comfort and to leave 
all he could gain to his own family. His own blood 
16 


The Hidden Farm. 


lY 


was all the world to him, and the whole of the 
earth was bounded by the ^ hidden farm.’ 

He grew richer and richer, and as his stocks 
enlarged, the one solitary dollar which he yearly 
gave to the poor became as large as a cartwheel in 
his eyes. If anybody spoke to him about remember- 
ing the needy, he would say : ^ Poor ? God bless 
you, we haven’t any here, so we have no need to tax 
our memory,’ and his inventory of the place was 
almost true, except in a few cases of men whose ships 
had gone down. 

Captain Fayerweather once met an old Carib 
Indian in the Spanish Islands who became greatly 
attached to him. When the two parted, the Carib 
gave him a large round gold doubloon as a pocket- 
piece. The Carib pretended to be a kind of prophet, 
and said to him: 

^ Captain, on the day that you part with this, 
you will become another man.’ 

^ The Lord forbid,’ said the captain, ^ that I 
should ever become any other man than myself.’ 

“ But he did not know himself. 

It was noticed that Captain Fayerweather 
made a pocket-piece of the Spanish doubloon, but 
the officers said that he always locked it up in his 
chest when he retired to his bunk. The magical 
coin never found the captain asleep on the sea, except 
when it was in prison somewhere. The words 
^ another man ’ had fixed themselves upon his mind ; 

2 


18 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons. 


they haunted him. No one ever loved Captain 
Fayerweather like Captain Fayerweather. He 
could give more for himself than for a dozen men. 

It was the same on the land. He showed the 
glitering gold disk to the salts of the Ipswich town, 
and confidently told its legend to a few, all of whom 
said: 

‘ Be careful of it, captain, be careful ! ’ 

^^And to this caution Captain Fayerweather 
invariably replied: 

^ Don’t you bother, you may be sure I will. 
Keep still, and show your wisdom, and I will leave it 
to my grandchildren for good luck.’ 

I was one of those grandchildren. I had heard 
of my rich grandfather, whose ship traded at 
Jamaica, and who lived on one of the hidden farms 
of the ancient Winthrops, Dudleys and Saltonstalls. 
I had been told that the farm was all meadows, birds 
and bees, and had been promised a visit to the place 
some time when the captain was in port. But I 
had never heard of the magical pocket-piece or the 
legend of the Bahama Sea. 

At the age of ten, or more, I had never seen my 
golden grandfather to know him, though he had once 
seen me when I was a little child. He had pretended 
to be very much interested in me and to have great 
hopes of me. His name was Daniel Fayerweather, 
so was mine. He probably thought that I would 


The Hidden Farm. 


19 


creditably continue the family name and liis prudent 
thrifty character. 

‘‘ At this time, before I had entered into my teens, 
Captain Fayerweather’s ship came sailing into the 
port of Boston; this time from Callao, the port of 
Lima, Peru. lie had been gone a long time. It 
was in ITovember that the ship arrived. My mother 
met him at the shipping office, and he arranged with 
her that she should spend Thanksgiving with him 
on the hidden farm at Ipswich, and that she should 
bring ^ the boy.’ 

My eyes must have danced when she told me 
about the invitation, for I was fresh from ^ Sinbad 
the Sailor,’ and from like Oriental dreams of the 
Arabian Nights, and I had for several growing 
years listened eagerly to any account of my ancestor 
whose country was the world and sea, and who traded 
among the old Spanish isles and on the coasts of the 
republics of the sun. 

‘ You must be careful not to ask him for too 
many things,’ said my mother ; ^ he is a little near, 
as most property people, who have toiled for their 
money, are.’ 

I did not comprehend just what she meant by 
^ a little near.’ It had an affectionate sound, and so 
did not disenchant me. 

I have a very vivid recollection of the November 
day when my mother and I arrived at the hidden 
farm. The woods were red, the orchards yellow; 


20 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons, 


there were blooming witch hazels by the wood sides, 
and purple gentians by the wayside streams. The 
orchards had a mellow, cidery odor ; stacks of husks 
were rising near the long barn ; flocks of birds were 
gathering in the flelds, and the woodbine lay scarlet 
over the lean-to under the two high chimneys. 

He stood at the door awaiting us, a portly man, 
of gray hair, and as really wonderful in appearance 
as my imagination had pictured him to be. 

^ And this is my little grandson,’ he said, ^ the 
boy that bears my own name, and a right rugged boy 
he is.’ 

He lifted me up ; it seemed as though I were 
climbing a mountain. 

^ Don’t let me fall,’ said I. ^ O Captain Fayer- 
weather, don’t, don’t ! ’ 

It seemed to me that I was in some perilous place 
in the air. He was about to kiss me, but my cold 
words ^Captain Fayerweather ’ suddenly checked 
his affection. 

^ You should say Grandfather,’ said he, as he put 
me down. 

That night we sat down by the great open fire- 
place before a driftwood fire. 

My grandfather talked of his voyages, and told 
a very wonderful tale of some pirates who were 
brought into Kingston, Jamaica, for trial, and who 
could not be proved to be guilty of sea robbery, and 
were discharged. On the day that they were set 


The Hidden Farm. 


21 


free a strong box came rolling in upon the surf, and it 
was found to contain certain property and treasures 
which they had thrown overboard to prevent dis- 
covery. So the sea bore witness against them, and 
they were arrested again, and hanged. 

As he was relating this tale, to which I was all 
ears, he took from his pocket an immense gold piece, 
and absently turned it over and over in his hand. 
N^ow and then it glimmered in the blue or red light 
of the driftwood fire. Then I became all eyes. I 
stretched out my hands to touch it; he started, and 
put it back into his pocket. I had never seen so 
large a coin before. 

‘ I am thankful for the hidden farm,^ the old 
captain remarked after the story, ^ for I love to shun 
folks, and am by nature a solitary man. I live 
square with the world, and I have but little sympathy 
with those that get wrecked for want of pilotage, and 
M^hat I give, as old Lady Lovelace said, is nothing 
to nobody.’’ I am capable of earning my own liv- 
ing, by the exercise of sound sense, and I like to be 
left alone here among my own orchards.’ 

The hidden farm had some terrible traditions of 
the changes that come into life. Hugh Peters is said 
to have been there in pastoral duties; the Reverend 
Hugh, who succeeded Roger Williams at Salem, and 
who was sentenced in the Tower of London to be 
^ drawn upon a hurdle, to be hanged, cut down while 
alive^ disemboweled^ and to have bis vital parts 


22 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


burned, and then be quartered, and his head placed 
upon a pike.’ All this for conspiring against King 
Charles I. The regicides, Goffe and Whalley, are 
said to have hidden in the houses of this old Boston 
hiding place, which hid the captain from the many 
beggars of this changeful world. 

^ I am thankful that there is a hidden farm for 
such, as I,’ he repeated, ^ a hidden farm.’ 

He arose and walked the room. I whispered to 
mother, all imagination: 

^ Wouldn’t that pocket-piece look good in the 
contribution box % 

^ What, my dear ? ’ said she, gently. 

^ That great coin.’ 

^ Yes, dear, but father does not often give as much 
as that at a single time ! ’ 

Before we retired for the night grandfather 
said : 

^ To-morrow is Thanksgiving. I must go to the 
church in the morning, as I used to do. I suppose 
they’ll expect me to give something.’ His voice ran 
down the scale of minor notes. 

^ I’ll have to remain at home to prepare the din- 
ner,’ said my mother. 

^ Then if you don’t mind I’ll take little Daniel 
with me. They are going to take up a special con- 
tribution, I am told, to prevent Deacon Trueblood 
from becoming a charge upon the town. The deacon 
has lived an honest life^ but he has had a hard time. 


The Hidden Farm, 


23 


He used to be a sea captain ; his ship went down — 
that was twenty years ago/ 

^ I should be sorry to see such a man as he go to 
the poorhouse/ said my grandmother. ^ You, Daniel, 
used to be intimate with him when you two were 
boys, and once was the time that he was as prosperous 
as you.’ 

^ Yes, we used to sit in the same seat at school. 
Well, I have prospered some, and he lost his ship, 
and after that he was another man. Everything 
went wrong with him. I shall have to put an extra 
dollar in the box to-morrow.’ 

I noticed a strange look in his face after he had 
uttered the words, ^ another man.’ It was as though 
he had spoken without thought. 

I went to bed that night with my young mind 
filled with wonder at the mysteriousness of this ever- 
mysterious world. Why should Deacon Trueblood 
have been left poor in a town where all seemed so 
prosperous, and why should lot grandfather have 
made good some of his losses for old friendship’s 
sake ? 

The next morning I ran to meet my grandfather 
as soon as he came into the room. He looked tired 
and strange. I put out my hands and he took them, 
but said to my mother : 

^ I have had a wakeful night.’ He turned 
around twice. 


24 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


‘ Why, father, it was very still. Perhaps it was 
because the moon is at the full.’ 

^ I had a dream just after I retired. It was one 
of those vivid dreams that do not let one go to sleep 
again.’ 

^ What was it about, father \ ’ asked mother. 

He stood back to the blazing fire witli his hands 
behind him, after the old NTcav England way. 

^ It Avas about an Indian pilot and diver ; I 
thought I saw him.’ 

^ Was it any one that you had ever seen before ? ’ 

^ Yes — I once employed him as a diver. He 
told me that a change might some day come over my 
mind or fortunes, and that I would become another 
man.” ’ 

^ But Avhy, father, should an Indian diver say 
such a thing ? ’ 

^ He was a kind of gipsy of the sea ; he thought 
he had the gift of second sight. You may think 
that I am superstitious. The old captains of our 
family used to consult Avith Moll Pitcher, the witch 
of Lynn, Avhose table may still be seen in the old 
Salem museum. But ever since the day I met the 
pilot I have been haunted by the fear of becoming 
another man. I have directed my Avhole life to be- 
ing what I am noAV. My individuality is more than 
precious to me. Last night in my dream — it Avas 
one of those dreams that are more vivid than life 
itself — I thought I heard the Indian pilot say, 


The Hidden Farm, 


25 


Another man.’’ Then the words, ^^Vaya usted 
con Deos,” echoed after it — Go thy way with God,” 
a Spanish farewell of no evil import. But it was 
the words, another man,” that troubled me and kept 
me awake. Old Captain Trueblood, whom they had 
made a deacon, became another man. His ship 
went down and fortune forsook him. There are 
more rocks than those in the sea in this world. 

^ Most of the old Ipswich captains,’ he continued, 
^ have made small fortunes and live in good houses 
or on comfortable farms.. But not all. Captain 
Hartwell, he became another man ; he is in the 
Sailors’ Snug Harbor, as the soldiers’ poor-house 
on the Cape is called. Captain Jordan is there too, 
and Mate Hopestill, and Pilot Talmouth, and a 
number of honest sailors. They all became other 
men. They never thought that they would.’ 

He walked to and fro greatly agitated. 

^ I can see the diver in my mind,’ he said, ‘ as 
he stood there rocking in his boat on the Bahama 
Sea. He lived at Fortune Island. He was a tall, 
spare man, with deep-set black eyes.’ 

Grandfather turned toward the blazing fire, 
lie started back suddenly. ^ I can see him there 
— I can see him now ; no,’ he added, ^ that is but my 
old dream, like the shadow of a rainbow, or a shadow 
of a shadow. He said, Captain, we shall meet 
again.” ’ 


26 


Jac¥s Carrier Pigeons, 


‘ But what could possibly change your life, 
father ? ’ 

^ I might lose my senses. I might fall sick, 
or the ship company might fail and leave me de- 
spondent, or paralyzed. I have thought of all these 
things since my dream. But there is one thing 
strange about it all: The Indian diver did not say 
that evil would befall me — only that I would become 
another man.’’ ’ 

He took a few more turns before the fire, and 
then I heard him say : 

^ It is well I must do by the contribution box 
to-day. If it were not for that I Avould hardly go 
to church. I am so sleepy after last night. I 
heard the clock strike every hour.’ 

It was Thursday, the 28th of November, an 
Indian summer day. The bare limbs of the trees 
were covered with frost and glimmered like jewels. 
The bell of the old country church beat the clear 
air, and carriages began to fill the long line of 
sheds, over which clematis, turned yellow, and wild 
grapes hung. 

My grandfather took me by the hand and we 
walked to the country church. I could see that he 
was still troubled — that something was weighing 
upon his mind. 

The church was out of the village on the stone- 
walled country road, but it was filled with people 


The Hidden Farm. 


27 


before the hour of service. There was to be a 
Thankgsiving solo with the clioriis, ^ Oh that men 
would praise the Lord for His goodness ! ’ and the 
^ Ode on Science ’ was to be sung. The parson was 
to repeat a famous sermon on the mystic subject, 
^ The measure of the man was the measure of the 
angel/ a doubtful argument, which he had made 
from a verse in the Apocalypse. A popular lady 
teacher was to sing a solo by request, ^ Hullah’s 
Storm,’ as it was then called, a song which Ade- 
laide Phillips, I think, had made popular, and which 
was well adapted to a Thanksgiving service among 
a partly seafaring population. 

Grandfather Fayerweather owned a family 
pew, a place so sacred to him that he was strenuous 
that no one should ever occupy it but himself and his 
family. He told the sexton one day that he need not 
offer the hospitality of it to any visiting stranger, 
that his pew was not^ a common cow pasture,’ after 
which simile the good man understood the aristo- 
cratic respect due to that particular part of the sanc- 
tuary. So when we entered the church we found 
all of the pew awaiting us, which gave us both, T 
fancied, as young as I was, a sense of dignity as well 
as of comfort. 

The church was crowded ; the galleriesi were 
filled, and all the pews but our O'wn, which presented 
a picture of exclusive domain. I sat close to my 
portly grandfather, and surveyed the scene won- 


28 


JacFs Cmrier Pigeons, 


derin^’ly. A country church Thanksgiving was a 
notable event of old New England days. The pulpit 
was tall and hung with red curtains; there had 
been a sounding-board over it in early times. A 
bass viol and violin led the singing, which belonged 
to the vigorous school of music. Grandfather seemed 
to enjoy the music, especially the ^ Ode on Science,^ 
which began: 

“ ‘ The morning now shines from the east 
And speeds the glories to the west.^ 

The prayer was long, and I saw that the captain 
became a little drowsy before it was through. Some- 
where in the prayer, which was an historical one, 
when the parson was following the Hebrews through 
their wanderings in the Wilderness or down by the 
streams of Babylon, I was surprised to see the cap- 
tain nod, once, twice, thrice, and then to throw up 
his head with a commanding resolution, as if to say, 
in a low tone, ^ I have not been asleep ! ’ 

Asleep? It would be ridiculous for Captain 
Daniel Fayerweather to go to sleep in the house of 
the Puritans on Thanksgiving Day. 

In ancient times they had a tithing man to wake 
up those who had wandered afar in worldly dreams 
during divine services. He was particularly useful 
about haying time, when the warm air, the bees, 
and far-awav sermon tended to make one drowsy. 
He used to tickle the nose of property women who 


The Hidden Farm, 


2& 


wandered from their pews into the far regions of the 
imagination, with a feather which he gently, very 
gently, inserted into their noses, which caused them 
to make a little jump, and improper children in the 
gallery to laugh. For this purpose, also, the fur of 
some animal was used. 

The sermon was a famous one. It went to show 
that the measure of the soul here would be its meas- 
ure hereafter. 

It set me, young as I was, to thinking. I won- 
dered if grandfather would be a ^ little near,’ which 
I better understood now, in the expansive regions 
beyond. 

^^Suddenly I saw his head drop, and that his eyes 
were closed. I pitied him, for I knew that the In- 
dian diver who came to him in his dreams had kept 
him awake the night before. I touched his hand 
gently and his eyes opened. He looked very much 
surprised. His mind had evidently been voyaging. 

The sermon went on, showing that what we are 
now we would be hereafter. Grandfather’s eyes 
closed again as if in serene contemplation. I be- 
gan to be nervous, like the boy who caried a bottle of 
cider in his pocket on Thanksgiving Day, when the 
bottle suddenly went off with a pop and became a 
fountain. That boy did not go to church for some 
weeks afterwards. He had recollections of walnut 
boughs. 

Grandfather’s head was now tilting backward, 


?>() Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons, 

and his month was wide open. I touched his hand; 
ids head at once responded and regained its gravi- 
tation, but his eyes did not open. But a most extra- 
ordinary thing followed; he put his hand into his 
vest pocket and took out a great gold doubloon and 
began to turn it. 

I was accounted to have a bright mind ; at ten 
or twelve to be beyond my years. I thought that I saw 
grandfather^s intent. lie was turning the pocket- 
piece in his hand to keep him awake until the con- 
tribution box for the unfortunate captain and deacon 
came around ; then he would surprise the ancient 
usher and the people in the galery, the minister and 
all, by such a glorious contribution as had never been 
made by any man in that church before. This 
would be a great day for the family name. It was. 

He turned the coin over and over in his hand. 
I recalled that once a fisherman captain had lost him- 
self during a long sermon in the church, and think- 
ing that he was off the Banks had cried out, ^ See ’em 
flop, see ’em flop ! ’ lie had to be recalled from the 
abundant seas by the tithing man. 

Near me sat old Madam Endicott, a woman of 
gerat decision of character. There was a period of 
disciplinary preaching when some of the old min- 
isters used to hint from the pulpit a very unscrip- 
tural and cowardly manner of reproof. It is said 
that reproof e^iven in public hardens the heart, and 
it was certainly so in Madam’s case. For, when at 


The Hidden Farm. 


31 


a candle-light meeting, the people bringing their own 
candles, a venerable parson hinted at her that she 
was too busy in neighborhood affairs, she rose right 
np in the meeting and answered him back : ^ Don’t 
yon ever darst to sass me, sneaking behind a pulpit 
curtain, and now I’ll take up my candlestick and go 
out.’ And she did, with much deliberation and 
dignity. The old Ipswich people were noted for 
having minds of their own. 

The long sermon ended with a truly sympathetic 
appeal for old Captain, now Deacon Trueblood, whose 
ship had gone down at sea, and his remaining for- 
tunes on land. In order to make the appeal more ef- 
fective, and the contributions to grow as the box 
went round, the parson invited the givers to repeat 
texts of scripture as they made their offerings. I 
wondered what grandfather would say as he put into 
the box the great gold piece, which he was still turn- 
ing in his hand more and more slowly. If I had 
had anything to give, I would have said : ^ The Lord 
loveth a cheerful giver,’ which six words I had been 
taught for Sunday-school recitation, for a contri- 
bution-box text, and which one poor boy on such 
an occasion had got mixed up with the Solomon- 
like wisdom, ^ A fool and his money is soon parted. 
The word ^ bountiful ’ might well be used in the 
captain’s case. 

The sermon ended, and the tall, grave usher 
started with the contribution box for his benevolent 


32 


JacTc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


journey up and down the aisles. Grandfather’s eyes 
were still closed. He could not be asleep, I rea- 
soned. Ho, the golden wheel was still turning over 
and over, over and over. 

The usher was coming down our aisle. People 
were making contributions of vulgar paper dollars 
and repeating texts. When he arrived at the pew 
before ours, a little girl took a paper bill from her 
grandfather’s hand, stood up and repeated the text 
‘ He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord,’ 
as she made her offering. The parson added from 
the pulpit, ^ That is right, little girl ; I have never 
seen the children of the righteous forsaken.’ The 
people in the galleries smiled. Mv heart beat hard. 

The incident was hypnotic to me. The tall 
usher stopped before our pew. All eyes were turned 
upon us. I touched grandfather; he did not re- 
spond. Why should not I do as the little girl had 
done and astonish everybody ? I did not doubt that 
after the encouragement that the parson had given 
to her that this was the right and proper thing to do. 
So I withdrew the Spanish doubloon gently, very 
gently, from grandfather’s hand, and stood up in a 
prompt, decisive way. 

Speak up loud, sonny,’ said the parson. I did 
I lifted the doubloon high over the benevolent box, 
so that all the people could see it, and said in a very 
clear and audible voice, ^ The Lord loveth a cheerful 
giver.’ I then dropped the gold circle from the 


The Hidden Farm, 


33 


Spanish treasure ship into the box, which, even 
among the paper bills, went down with a ring. 

^ That is a very improving scene,’ said the parson, 
lifting his eyebrows in a heavenly way. 

How happy I was at that moment ! I think 
that I have never in my life experienced such a thrill 
of joy as that. Deacon Trueblood sat up in the dea- 
con’s pew in view of me. He, good soul, took out 
his pocket handkerchief, and began to weep. I 
was tender hearted, my eyes were beginning to run 
when grandfather’s large eyes opened with a blink, 
and he started with a jerk like a threshing machine 
when it begins to go. 

He rubbed his fingers together as if feeling for 
the coin, which was now going on its journey in the 
box down the aisle. 

He suddenly clapped his hand against his vest 
pocket, first on one side and then on the other. 
Then he dove his right hand into his right trousers’ 
pocket. He was awake now. I was sure of that, 
quite sure. 

He dropped his eyes upon the carpeted floor, and 
moved his gold-headed cane about under the seat. 
His face swelled out, and grew red ; his eyes en- 
larged, and he felt in his vest pocket again, where 
the doubloon used to be. 

He then bent toward me. 

^ Have you seen anything of my pocket-piece ? ’ 

^ Yeth, thir,’ I answered, I lisped at that time, 
3 


34 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


^ Where is it ? ’ he gasped, full of wonder and 
surprise. ^ Where ? ’ 

^ I put it into the contribution box for you, 
thir.^ 

A spasm passed over him. 

^ The dragon you did ! ’ 

^ I did it for you, thir.’ 

^ Where was I then ? ’ 

^ I donT know, thir. Your eyes were shut, thir.^ 

There came an awful look into his face. He 
twirled his fingers, as folks do at the household 
plav of ^ Quaker Meeting.’ 

I heard l~im whisper, ^ It is fate. The diver, 
the diver ! ’ 

I was frightened. What had I done ? ^ The 

diver,’ who and where was he ? 

The usher set down the contribution box on the 
communion table, after the old way. Then the par- 
son came down from the tall pulpit, put his hand 
into the box bristling with bills, and held up the 
gleaming doubloon and said: 

^ This is the way which a sea captain feels to- 
ward a fellow man who has suffereJ on the seas. 
There is always nobility and fraternity in a true 
sailor’s heart. Ipswich town has a captain to be 
proud of, loved and appreciated forever ! ’ The 
doubloon gleamed in the rays of the noon sun that 
fell through the south window. 

^ That means me,’ whispered grandfather to me, 


The IIidde7i Farm, 


35 


nervously. ^ Nobility and fraternity/ lie repeated 
in an undertone. His face suddenly lighted. He 
looked like another man. 

Old Captain Trueblood, the deacon, now rose 
up, trembling, his great bandanna handkerchief in 
his hand, which wobbled to and fro. Tears were 
streaming down his cheeks, and the house became as 
still as death. You could have heard the leaves 
falling from the trees outside in the crisp November 
air. 

^ O my friends ! ^ said he, ^ you can none of you 
know how I feel. There is a friendship that exists 
between seafaring men such as can be felt by no 
others. The love of David for Jonathan was noth- 
ing like that. It is those who face storms that 
feel. I used to think that my great-hearted brother 
was a little near.’’ Heaven forgive me for such a 
mis judgment; if he ever was that, he is now an- 
other man. May heaven bless him as never before! 
We ought to send such a man as that to the Legis- 
lature.’ He swung his red handkerchief into the 
air, then covered his face with it and sat down. 
Some of the people laughed ; some cried. 

My grandfather had never entered into the at- 
mosphere of true gratitude before. New feelings 
were welling up within him. His face began to 
beam. He whispered to me as not knowing what 
else to do, when he had to do something for relief — 

^ I am going to invite Deacon Trueblood home 


36 


Jack's Cai^rier Pigeons, 


with us to dinner. The diver did not say that mis- 
fortune should come to mo. Hush, Lucy Seagrave 
is going to sing.^ 

He seemed to listen as if with new ears. A 
new sj^irit had come into him. I never saw one 
look so happy! He turned a beaming face up to- 
ward Lucy up in the organ loft. The people saw 
it, and they returned a look of real generous love upon 
grandfather. All the atmosphere of his life seemed 
changing. He seemed to have entered the gates of a 
new world. 

The violin threw a beautiful melody upon the 
air, and Miss Seagrave, whose father had once been 
rescued from perils on the Banks, stilled the place 
with her ballad which was written by the daughter 
of ^ Barry Cornwall,’ Adelaide Anne Procter. 

“ ‘ The tempest rages wild and high, 

The winds send up their voice, and cry 
Fierce answers to the angry sky. 

Miserere Domine I 

“ ‘ Through the dark cloud and blinding rain, 

A ship was struggling, all in vain. 

To live upon the stormy main. 

Miserere Domine I 

“ ‘ The thunders roar, the lightnings glare. 

Vain it is now to strive or dare, 

A cry goes up of deep despair, 

Miserere Domine I 

“ ‘ The stormy voices of the main. 

The moaning wind and pelting rain. 


The Hidden Farm. 


37 


Burst on the nursery window pane, 

Miserere Domine ! 

“ ‘ Warm-curtained was the little bed, 

Soft-pillowed was the little head, 

“ The storm will wake the child,” they said. 

Miserere Domine I 

“ ‘ Cowering among the pillows white, 

He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright, 

“ Father, save those on the sea to-night,” 

Miserere Domine 1 ’ 

I looked up to grandfather. There were tears 
in his eys. I was greatly surprised that there 
should be tears in a captain’s eyes. There was a 
low interlude on the violin. He whispered to me: 

^ I didn’t know that I could cry.” 

Miss Seagrave’s beautiful voice pealed forth 
again — 

“ ‘ The morning sun shone clear and gay, 

On a ship at anchor in the bay. 

And on a little child at play. 

Gloria tibi Domine I ’ 

Grandfather bent over me with tear-wet cheeks. 

^ I am glad you did it for me,’ said he ; H begin 
to feel like another man. I think that I shall enjoy 
my Thanksgiving dinner.’ 

Poor Deacon Trueblood! he came running to- 
ward him as soon as the services were over and the 
people waited in the aisles to speak tenderly to him. 
This was a new world. 


38 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons. 


^ Well, ca]3tain, you have made us all happy to- 
day/ said the parson. 

‘ My hoy here has shown a generous spirit ; there 
is no credit due to me/ said grandfather, greatly em- 
barrassed. ^ But this incident has shown to me an- 
other side of life. It makes me happy to see you all 
so friendly. There is a joy in it that I have never 
experienced before to so great a degree. It does take 
something besides prosperity, riches, turkeys and 
cranberry sauce, mince pies and puddings, or even 
one’s own happy family to make a real satisfying 
Thanksgiving, now, doesn’t it ? ’ 

^ Yes, captain,’ said the parson, ^ happiness 
comes from things that we cannot buy.’ He added: 

You are taking a new view of life.’ 

‘ I’ve lived too long on a hidden farm,’ said the 
captain. ^ If I should have good health and pros- 
perity, I mean to have a regular Thanksgiving din- 
ner in my house every year for the sailors, and a 
thought struck me all at once while the schoolmis- 
tress was singing that I might some day make 
a Sailors’ Home out of my house on the Cape, 
and take my Thanksgiving dinners there. If I 
had not the joy that I feel within me now. Thanks- 
giving would be nothing to me at all. Thanksgivings 
in the past have all lacked something. Thank 
Heaven, I feel like a new man, but I am an honest 
soul, and it is a hard confession that I will have to 
make to you all some day. I am getting credit that 


The Hidderi Farm. 


39 


that does not belong to me nowy but it will some day. 
I am not the man now that I was when I entered the 
door ; no, I am another man ! ’ 

So the Sailors’ Snug Harbor lifted its roof over 
the Blue Cape, and it was a home^ and not a poor- 
house, and the captain was the purse and soul of it. 

He went to sea again once more, but in a steamer, 
not in his own ship. On the way to Jamaica the steam- 
er stopped at Fortune Island and took a pilot onboard. 
The latter was a tall Indian with deep sunken eyes. 

Captain Fayerweather went to him as be saw 
him resting at the wheel. 

^ I have met you before,’ said the captain. 

^ Aye, sir, aye, sir. I remember ! I saw it 
all in my mind. Where is your pocket-piece, my 
old friend % ^ 

Ht found its way very mysteriously to one who 
needed it more than I.’ 

^ And you never recalled it, did you, my 
friend ? ’ 

^ Ho, pilot, no. I learned a lesson from it; it 
became a kind of parable to me! It woke me up.’ 

^ Then you are another man, and you will al- 
ways prosper. Leave me to my work, captain. I 
am a lonely man. Yaya usted con Deos!''^ 

The Captain Pigeon of whom we spoke was among 
the listeners to the story. He was a singer, and 


40 Jacics Carrier Pigeons. 

whenever he heard anything that enlivened his soul, 
he would sing 

“ There are angels hovering round, 

There are angels hovering round, 

To carry the tidings home, 

To carry the tidings home ; ” 

and with this refrain, in which all joined, he closed 
the story of the Another Man ’’ or The Changed 
Heart/^ 


CHAPTER III. 


\ 


JACK. THE FOETH’S STORIES. FRAU SUSANNE. 

The old Boston poet listened to Captain Eayer- 
weatlier’s story with deep interest. 

There was heard a timid rap at the door. 

The door was opened. 

A voice broke npon the air. 

May I come in ? It is beginning to storm — 
and I have no home but the storm.’’ 

Come in, Jack,” said Father Taylor. This is 
a storm home for wayfarers.” He called all sailors 

Jack.” 

A young sailor came in on a crutch. 

How did you lose your bearing, J ack ? ” 
asked Father Taylor. 

Ah, don’t ask me that. It was my own fault, 
more’s the pity. But — I have eyes — I can see — a 
man who pities a pigeon will pity me.” 

He hobbled across the room and sat down by 
Father Taylor, and looked at the pigeon. 

A sailor whose heart turns toward a poor bird 
Father Taylor. 

How did you lose your bearing, J ack ? ” asked 
the lame sailor. 


41 


42 


JaeTc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


His wing is hurt/’ said the sailor preacher. 

Some of the boys out of school hurt it, may be.” 

There was a brief silence, when the young sailor 
said: 

Preacher? ” k - 

Well, Jack, say on.” 

If you can heal the pigeon, why not heal me ? ” 
He added: My wing is out of joint.” 

It is a tender heart that you have. Jack,” said 
Father Taylor. I think you are worth healing. 
You seem to be a likely boy.” 

The wind blew along the square, sharp and fitful. 

I pity those who have no hatches to-night,” said 
he. 

I pity those who have no hatches to-night,” said 
the preacher. 

He turned to the poet, and said: 

Winter is coming into the air; he is sounding 
his trumpet now. We must have a bit of poetry 
and a song before you go.” 

The poet said that he would recite a bit of verse, 
and asked that the company should repeat the re- 
frain. 

ONLY ONE. 

If each one would care for one — 

Only one — 

Poverty would leave the earth, 

Brotherhood would light with mirth 


Jack. 


43 


Every shadow of the earth — 

If each one would care for one — 

Only one. [Only one. 

If each one would care for one — 

Only one — [Only one. 

Each one meeting that one’s need 
Would his own heart’s hunger feed; 

Happy were the world indeed — 

If each one would care for one — 

Only one.” [Only one. 

That may mean me,” said Jack. Only one! ” 

After the poem they sung hymns, Father Taylor 
still holding the wounded pigeon against his face. 
The poor bird tried to hide its head under the lame 
wing. 

The sailor preacher took lame Jack by the hand, 
and led in a favorite song : 

“ How precious is the name, 

Brethren sing, 

How precious is the same, 

Brethren sing. 

How precious is the same, 

Of Christ our Pascal Lamb, 

WIio bore our sin and shame 
On the tree.” 

Jack felt friendliness in Father Taylor’s hand. 

The pigeon took its head from out the cover of its 
wing to listen to the song. 

Wlien the hymn had been sung. Father Taylor 
said : 


44 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


^^Jack, the pigeon is more lively now — so God 
cares for all who trust in him. The bird trusted me, 
and I will never let it suffer want. How is it with 
you, Jack? ’’ 

I will trust you,’’ said J ack. I feel that you 
are my friend. I could trust you anywhere and 
always.” 

No, no, no. Jack, never you trust me any farther 
than you see me following a Power that can keep me. 
Throw yourself on that strong arm. Jack, as the 
bird sits upon mine. See, he does not doubt me. 
There, he hides his head again. He is going to sleep. 
I will have to find a bed for you. Jack. I will find 
you a bed in the room under the pigeon-house, and 
I will give the pigeon a box where the other birds 
will not peck at him. 

Jack, let me kneel down beside you and pray.” 

He prayed — the pigeon still clinging to his arm. 

It was all like a parable. The words of the 
prayer went to Jack’s heart, and when he entered to 
the room under the pigeon-house, a new life had be- 
gun in his heart. 

Father Taylor put the pigeon in a close box near 
Jack’s bed and said: 

I will leave you to heal the pigeon and God to 
heal you, and he will. Jack. I will see you again in 
the morning.” 

Jack prayed that night for the first time since he 
was a child. 


CHAPTEE IV. 


THE TONE PIGEON. 

The next i-.orning found Father Taylor in Jack’s 
room in the cock-loft under the pigeon boxes. The 
sailor preacher had been thinking of Jack during the 
night. He could not sleep for him. 

The top of the morning to you, J ack,” said he, 

and there was never a finer mornin^ in October. 
Oh, I like these fine October days, though yesterday 
was a breezy one ! How is the pigeon ? ” 

Preacher,” said Jack, I’m glad that you have 
come. I have been hearing something.” 

What was it. Jack ? ” 

A sound like the sound of the sea, like the wind 
in the trees at home, a coo, coo, cooing in the air.” 

“ It’s the pigeons. Jack.” 

So many of them ? ” 

^^Yes, the wings multiply. I hate to kill the* 
birds, so they multiply.” 

^^But my father raised pigeons, and it was that 
sound that made me dream of home.” 

Where is your home. Jack ? ” 


45 


46 


JaelhS Carrier Pigeons, 


On Southampton Water, near the sea wall/’ 
What is your real name, Jack? ” 

Kinsman — James Kinsman — ^ Jammie, me b’y,’ 
they used to call me in my old home. Mother don’t 
know that I am here. She don’t know where I am. 
I have hurt her heart.” 

Of course. Jack. I will call you by your home 
name now. Jammie, me b’y, I am a friend to you — 
I am likely to be the best friend that you have on 
this side of the water. Jammie, me b’y, why does 
not your mother know where you were going ? ” 

Preacher, I got into difficulties. I did wrong 
and got into difficulties with the landsmen of the port, 
and so I put to sea. Preacher, I am not well. My 
leg is swelling.” 

‘‘ I am sorry to hear that, Jack — Jammie, me b’y. 
How did you become lame ? ” 

I will tell you the truth, preacher. I was the 
worse for drink, and stepped do^vn into one of those 
coal holes that happened to be open on the side of the 
street, and I fell over, and twisted my leg. It was 
all my own fault. I sometimes fear that I have 
broken a bone. Can I have a doctor, preacher? 
You are all that I have now between me and heaven 
except my old mother’s heart, and that is far away 
now by Southampton Water.” 

Yes, you shall have a doctor. But one should 
be right within to become right without — how fares 
it with your soul this morning, Jammie, me b’y?” 


The Lone Pigeon. 


47 


I have been praying, preacher. I prayed this 
morning when I heard the rumbling — the sounds 
like home all in the pigeon boxes.’’ 

Did you pray to get well ? ” 

I prayed for a right spirit.” 

That was right — that was right — ^you are true 
coin, Jack. That was right.” Father Taylor 
leaned back and began to sing 

“ There are angels hovering ’round.” 

The October sun streamed into the window of the 
cock-loft over the sea. 

ITow that you are in the right way. Jack, I 
will go and see how the pigeon is faring. That bird 
seemed to have a human heart.” 

Father Taylor opened the box where he had placed 
the bird. 

‘‘ So here you are, my beauty,” said he. 

The bird came to him and seemed very restless, 
as wanting to get away. 

I will carry you to Jack,” said he. 

He brought the pigeon to the bed. 

A queer bird that,” said he, with red rims 
around his eyes like spectacles. Ho, ho ! ” 

The bird tried to fly towards the window, but fell 
helpless on the floor and ran into the sunlight. 

It is a mother bird,” said Father Taylor. She 
may have a nest and little ones somewhere — who 
knows what is in her heart ? ” 


48 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


He took her up again. 

Jack/^ said he, suddenly, what is this ? 

There was a small string around the pigeon^s 
wing; it had been broken off. 

They kept her tied up at home,’’ said J ack. 

Ho, no, J ammie, me b’y. It is a carrier pigeon, 
a messenger bird, and she has met with some acci- 
dent. It is a female pigeon surely with young ones 
somewhere, for they let such birds loose when away 
from home. She wants to get to the window and 
to fly home. Poor mother bird, I will see what the 
doctor can do for your wing.” 

Father Taylor gave the bird to Jammie to fondle, 
and said: 

I will go for the doctor for both of you.” 

The doctor came. He found that Jack had 
strained a sinew and said that he must remain in 
bed for weeks. 

He examined the pigeon’s wing. 

I see — bone out of joint. I can set that — 
there,” said he, pressing the wing — I have done it 
now. That bird is a carier. She has young, she 
wants to go home. She will be right in a few days. 
She will be company for you, Jack. Handle her 
tenderly. Let her go in a day or two. I love 
birds.” 

Captain Pigeon, he who loved to sing There 
are angels hovering ’round,” enjoyed telling stories 
that were parables, such as left a meaning, or good 


The Lone Pigeon. 49 

suggestions in the mind, which he called, Stories 
with souls/^ 

One October evening he said to the sailors : 

You have asked me for stories a number of 
times. I am from a Cape family, you may know. 

Wonderful,’^ he began, it is wonderful how 
the dumb things that serve man and fly in the air can 
he trained. I love animals, I do — I think it im- 
proves the heart to live among them — they are all 
our brothers. 

Let us sit down on the settle before the Are 
made of the wrecked wood, and I will tell you some 
very curious circumstances that happened in the 
Cape woods. What shall I call my story now — 
well, boys, when I was young I used to be fond of 
enchantments and things, like Sinbad the Sailor. 
But this is no Sinbad story, it is a true story. I 
will call it, well, I will name it — 

THE EHCHAHTED HOESE.* 

Theee was an old N’ew York merchant. He used 
to be a particular friend of mine. We used to sit 
together in school. He had a daughter, a beautiful 
girl, named Rose. One day, as he told me the story, 
he received a kind of queer letter from an old friend 
of his who lived down on the Cape, in a lonely way, 
and whose name was Charity — Charity Howland. 

* By permission of “ Ladies’ World.” 


50 


JacWs CavTieT Pigeons, 


He said to Rose one day, after she had been down 
to his Hew York office, and came home with him: 

^ I have a letter from my old schoolmate Charity 
He viand, Rose. She wishes me to spend Thanks- 
giving at the Elms. She used to call the place 
The Ellums.^’ 

^ Tell me something about Charity,’ said the 
merchant’s daughter. 

The two sat in an apartment of a Hew York 
hote^ 

‘ About Charity ? Why, Charity Howland 
W'ould have given you her quilted hood off her head ! 
I can seem to see her now, with her slat summer bon- 
net dangling from a string in her hand; Charity, 
driving the cows to the bush pasture where the laurels 
grew; Charity, picking raspberries under the old 
stone walls along the way. What pictures come to me ! 
The golden robins sang in the tall locust trees that 
were all tasseled with white blooms when Charity 
was a girl, and the conquiddles, as they called the 
bob-o-links, toppled in the clover head over heels 
with delight when Charity was young. 

^ I well remember the day when we went sas- 
safrasing together, and tea-berrying, and how I 
used to give her half of my pandowdy out of my din- 
ner-pail. I remember how we gathered prickly 
holly leaves, and made wreaths, dotted with red ber- 
ries, and how the quails used to run patter, patter, 
patter, and the partridge wings used to whir, whir. 


The Lone Pigeon. 


51 


whir in the air! And what Fourth of July days 
we did used to have together 1 And Thanksgivings 1 
And apple dumpling and pandowdy! Let us spend 
our Thanksgiving this year at the Ellums.’’ Char- 
ity writes me that she drives John Howland’s old 
horse; that the horse tells stories, by-the-way, and 
that it is enchanted. She promises to take me to ride 
after the enchanted horse. Charity used to read 
fairy books in those days when I had a relish for 
such things. Fairy tales have little charms for me 
now. I almost wish that they had.’ 

On a farm adjoining the merchant’s birthplace, 
a country home in Plymouth County, had lived 
John Howland and his son John, descendants of the 
precisioner who ^ sang in the storm.’ Charity 
Howland was his aunt. John Howland, senior, had 
been a ' preaching deacon,’ and his son had worked 
out as a hired man to get money to pay for his edu- 
cation, and had graduated a little in debt at Har- 
vard. 

J ohn Howland, the preaching ^ elder,’ had re- 
cently died, leving his farm, and a very good name, 
to his son John, who was indeed, in Old Colony 
language, a very ^ likely ’ young man. He had left 
him also an ancient horse ^ to keep,’ as the will read, 
^ for Charity Howland.’ 

To Henry Dean all worldly affairs had seemed 
to become mere matters of business. His family 
consisted of his wife, three daughters and a sion. 


52 


JacT^s Carrier Pigeons, 


Except Rose, they were society people. Their recep- 
tions, their comings and goings, were noted in the 
papers ; they went abroad because they had no special 
occupation at home, and they returned home again 
because a lifo of mere self-exhibition has no signi- 
ficance abroad. 

The two resolved to spend Thanksgiving on the 
old Cape Earm at the ^ Ellums.’ So one day in 
November found them at the little depot there, 
where they found Charity awaiting them. 

It was a blazing Indian summer day at a little 
woodsy depot in the Old Colony woods. 

^ Hud up ! Go Tong, Charity ! There he is 
now, as sure as preaching. I knew it would be so. 
I saw it all by my inward eyes. Why donT you 
go Tong % ^ 

The speaker was none other than the same an- 
cient Charity Howland addressing a very humble 
looking horse, called ^ Charity,’ which she had de- 
scribed in her letter as ^ enchanted ’ and given to 
story-telling, under a ‘ spell.’ The horse’s head was 
decorated with a holly bough in which was an Ameri- 
can flag. 

^ Charity,’ or ^ Charioty,’ the enchanted horse, 
was persuaded to approach the platform of the little 
station by the vigorous application of a savin bough, 
which tingled him a little, but did not hurt him at 
all. Such persuasion rods seem to have been created 
for the prevention of cruelty to animals. 


The Lone Pigeon, 


63 


The wheels rubbed creaking against the plat- 
form. Charity rose up in the wagon, holding the 
reins high in air. 

‘ Let me look at you, Henry Dean. Well, Henry 
Dean, you donT look natural; something has gone 
out of you ; do I look natural ? ’ 

She stood there, reins in hand, towering over , the 
enchanted horse, like a sibyl. 

Yes, Charity, you do, I would have known you 
among a thousand and one ; the same face, the same 
heart, the same kind of bonnet and gown ; only you 
have grown a little older ! ^ 

‘ You got my letter, now, and sent me a dis- 
patch,’ said the sibyl-like Charity. ^ It almost scared 
me to death, that there dispatch, as the boy called 
it. Those telegraphic dispatches seems to me like 
messengers from another world! As I read it, I 
couldn’t help reflecting how times have changed. 
Is that the way they do in Hew York — answer civil 
and circumspections letters, by dispatches that shoot 
you to the heart like a powder bullet? Well, I am 
proper glad to see you. It wasn’t I that sent for you 
— ^not I myself.^ 

^ But who was it. Charity ? ’ asked the merchant, 
in alarm. 

The Lord!’ 

The merchant looked very much surprised. He 
was not used to messages that came from quarters 
as far from his experience as that, 


54 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 


Henry Dean and Rose mounted the humble 
farm wagon, and Charity applied the savin bough 
to the horse, upon which a ^ spell ^ had been set or 
^ sot/ 

^ Hud up ! ’ Charity turned her bonnet. 

^ How, Henry Dean, let me tell you what I have 
planned to do. I must take you first to the house to 
see your old mother, and leave Rose there, and then 
I am going to have a ride with you all alone /by our- 
selves, just as we used to do, only I had not this 
horse then.’ 

Charity spoke to the enchanted horse, and added 
with urgency, ^ Why don’t you go ’long ? ’ 

Charity applied the savin again, and ^aid : 
^ That horse used to belong to Elijah, so we called 
him Charioty; he’s spellbound. He tells a kind 
of family story after his own way when he travels 
over a certain road. It is a good story to tell.’ 

^ Hot Elijah the prophet?’ said Henry Dean, 
almost alarmed in his imagination at the suggestion. 
^ I am not ready to be translated yet ; are you, 
R6se ? ’ 

‘‘ Rose was not. 

^ Ho-no-no, why, I didn’t know that you remem- 
bered so much Scripture as that after all your years 
of botheration about money. The horse belonged 
to Elijah Moore, the preacher. When Elijah died 
he left him to young John Howland, because John 
is such a merciful man, just like his father before 


The Lone Pigeon, 


55 


him. He keeps people’s cattle out of the pound, and 
puts out grain on poles about the barn for the chick- 
a-dees in the winter time. He’s willing that all the 
world should live — he is — I am. How, young John 
had little need of the horse, so old John Howland 
used him for calling upon people, and he fixed his 
own mind and character upon him — set a spell upon 
him. The horse has always been loyal to the man’s 
memory. You’ll understand what I mean better 
by-and-bye. How,’ she continued, ^ I have one thing 
to ask of you before we reach the old .house. You 
remember your brother John, who stayed in the 
barn ? ’ 

^ Yes, yes; John and I once had the same heart. 
John? Yes.’ 

^ Then why haven’t you ever written to him ? 
He has been a true son to his father, John has. He 
never had his clothes off for sixty nights when your 
father was sick and suffering.’ 

^ But I sent him money.’ 

^ Money — money ? Henry Dean, when a man is 
in his last sickness, he wants something besides 
money, something more. What is money — money 
that puts one off ? How, Henry, John used to go out 
and stay in the barn when you came home years ago. 
He thought that you had become a mere money-mak- 
ing machine, and only helped the family in a way to 
make a show. He was half right, in my opinion. 

^ How listen to me, Henry Dean. Are your 


56 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


ears all correct and Lollow? To-morrow is Thanks- 
giving. It may be the last one that yon will ever 
spend in the Plymouth Country with all the family. 
I can see some things with my inner eyes. If John 
goes out to the barn to stay after you have hugged and 
kissed your old mother, and you do that now, I want 
you to go right after him with me — take my hand 
and go — just as we did when we were baptized in 
the river together, with all of the robins singing in 
the trees — there’s the river now ! ’ 

^ Cracky ! ’ 

Henry Dean’s lips smiled and then quivered. 
Such days as these had indeed departed from all 
recent experiences in life. 

They had come to the orchard in front of the 
Howland farm. It was all greenery, with a chimney 
top over it. Young John Howland had come out 
to the well-sweep, looked down the road, and stood 
motionless. 

Charity turned to the merchant, and said with 
vigor : ^ Well, what I was about to say to you is this : 
There can be no real true happiness at holiday times 
if there remain any feud in a family. Your old 
mother will not be happy at heart to-morrow unless 
you and John are reconciled. John has done for the 
family what no money could do. You will meet 
John in the same spirit that you had when you were 
boys — will yo ^ not ? ’ 

^ Yes, I will. Charity.’ 


The Lone Pigeon, 


57 


The merchant gave his cane an emphatic pound 
on the wagon floor. 

The old red chimneys rose in the air as they did 
forty years ago. The city vanished from the mer- 
chant’s mind like a dream. The carri^.ge was under 
the shadow of the elms — here was home again — but 
something had gone out of his life. But his heart 
came back to him as he entered the old door, under 
the faded woodbine, and stood on the braided mat. 

At the old home door the meeting of the mother 
and son bridged the past. 

^ Where is John?’ asked the merchant of the 
trembling old woman. 

^ Out to t^- e barn — go and And him.’ 

^ Come,’ said Charity. 

The merchant followed her. They found John 
in the barn. 

‘ The cradle you were rocked in used to be here 
in the lumber room,’ said Charity. ^ John,’ she 
called. 

He answered her. 

^ Come and show Henry the cradle you two were 
rocked in ! ’ 

John came out of the stall ; he had changed ; he 
was almost an old man now. Henry held out his 
hand to him, and they went together and looked into 
the family cradle. They returned to the house to- 
gether, brushing aside the ^ leelocks ’ as when they 
were boys. The old mother saw them coming, and 
simply said : 


58 


JacTvs Carrier Pigeons. 


‘ This is too much/ and after the old I^ew Eng- 
land way, threw her apron over her head. 

^ We will have a good Thanksgiving this year, I 
am thinking,’ she said. ^ Charity, yon come over 
and take dinner with ns in the old family room. And 
Henry — Henry — yon ask John Howland to take din- 
ner with ns, too, natural like, same as it used to be 
with his father ! ’ 

The touch of John’s hand had softened the mer- 
chant’s heart. 

He presently said : ^ Yes, — that wouldn’t do any 
harm.’ 

Henry Dean felt the simple human heart of his 
boyhood beating again. There were two Henry 
Deans. 

It was an Indian summer morning. The woods 
burned and flamed. Henry Dean and Charity rode 
down the old Indian road, by the water brooks, amid 
the wild flags and gentians. Henry did not notice 
anything remarkable about the horse, except the 
holly branches and the flag on his head. 

Charity applied the savin to Charioty, and he 
moved down the way amid startled quails, cawing 
crows and questioning jays. The red-winged black- 
birds disputed the invasion of their territory, amid 
the cool shadows of the marsh lands, as forty years 
ago. 

Henry Dean felt the spell of his vanished youth 
coming back agaim 


The Lone Pigeon. 


59 


^ Charity/ he said, ^ I would have liked to have 
brought you something from N^ew York for a present, 
but you know that you can draw upon me in any time 
of need. I always intend to remember you. Charity.’ 

Charity’s head started up, her lifted veil bob- 
bing. 

^ Why should you say that ? I don’t need any- 
thing; I have got everything now.’ 

What, Charity?’ 

^ Oh, the earth, and the sky, and the stars, and 
this red morning. And then I have millions in the 
bank ! ’ 

The merchant’s head started round, as on a pivot. 
‘ What bank, Charity ? ’ 

^ The bank up above, on Gold Street ; how much 
have you got there, Henry ? ’ 

The man of stocks and bonds looked doubtful. 
He pounded his cane on the floor of the wagon and 
said: ^That’s hard telling. Charity. Hot as much 
as you, I fear. I haven’t any stocks in the bank of 
imagination.’ 

^ More’s the pity, Henry Dean. I have.’ 

He looked up the road to the orchards on the 
rocky hill. The old chimneys loomed in the air as 
they did in the days long ago when his hair was like 
silk. The witch-hazels were bending over the cool 
brook that was flowing through the woodland pas- 
tures. The orchards were shining in the burning 
air, and the fields about the barns were heaped with 


60 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


stacks of hay. The laurel trees glistened in the 
woods and holly trees filled the still sunny pine 
groves with a shadow. They came to a simple house 
by the cranberry meadows not far from where they 
started. 

Charioty stopped. 

^ What makes him stop here ? ’ asked the mer- 
chant, seeing no one on the premises. ^ Is he going 
to tell the story ? ’ 

^ JSTo — it is old John Howland ! ^ 

^ But he is dead.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Yes ; but it was one of his principles when liv- 
ing never to pass by the house of a family in need. 
Is that one of yourn ? How do preaching dea- 
cons ” do on the street where you live, Henry ? ’ 

^ This is very extraordinary — very,’ said the 
merchant. ^ But John Howland is not driving the 
horse now.’ 

^ But this was his horse, the very one that he 
used to drive, and he always stops where John did. 
John’s spirit is driving now.’ 

^ What made John Howland stop here? ’ 

^ That’s what the horse is going to tell you. John 
Howland used to exchange works with Dyer, the 
gardener, after the poor man became a cripple.’ 

^ How did he expect ever to get his pay from a 
cripple ? ’ 

^ Oh, there are other worlds than this^ and 
banks,’ 


The Lone Pigeon, 


61 


^ You don’t say — Cracky — I seem to be in the old 
times now.’ 

Charioty stood still with the bended head of a 
philosopher. Henry Dean punched the horse with 
his cane, but the latter did not move. 

^ He acted just like that when he was carrying 
John Howland’s body to the grave. I guess he 
stopped, if he stopped once, twenty times on the way. 
He stopped at every house to which the deacon used 
to go, to help folks in their need.’ 

^ Cracky ! Ho horse would ever do that for me 
were I to die.’ 

^ Ho; more’s the pity; but this one would do the 
same for young John, were he to die.’ 

Here was a new view of life. 

^ But what are you going to do. Charity, in this 
extraordinary case ? ’ 

^ Let me get out of the back of the wagon while 
you hold the reins, and go around the house, and get 
into the front of the wagon, and then he will go. 
You see what a man old John Howland was, and 
young John is just like his father. 

Charity made the pilgrimage around the wagon, 
as she had suggested, when the benevolent horse, 
with quiet conscience, went on in a very orderly way, 
like one on a veritable mission in life. 

^ I never heard of the like of that,’ said the mer- 
chant. ^ That is a revelation.’ 

They came in view of a neat cottage, in whose 


62 JacT^s Carrier Pigeons. 

great yard white asters were fading, when the horse 
stopped again. 

^ What now ? ’ asked the merchant. 

^ John Howland he used to send young John over 
here to take Widow Goodnow^s children to school in 
bad weather. He favored the education of those 
children. One of them is a lawyer now, and one is 
a doctor, and the girl is one of the kindergarten 
teachers, as they calls ’em, in Boston. The people 
here never knew how those poor children got their 
money to pay for their schooling. But Deacon How- 
land did it. John is just like his father, and you 
see what a man he was. What a husband young 
John would make now! There are a dozen children 
that owe their start in business to the deacon, and yet 
he hadn’t anything but his heart and two hands. I’ll 
have to get out again.’ 

Charity climbed out of the back of the wagon, 
went around the house, and mounted the wagon, 
when the horse went on as sedately as before. The 
horse’s story grew interesting. 

^ The people are mostly gone that you used to 
know,’ said Charity. ^ They didn’t carry anything 
with them, but they left good influences behind them. 
Mr. Dean — Henry — it isn’t men that make money, 
but the men that make men, that live when they die, 
and a good memory is worth more than all the stocks 
in the world. That daughter of yourn, Kose, is an 
uncommon nice girl, in my way of thinking, and I 


The Lone Pigeon. 


63 


want to see her married to a man of common sense, 
and one who will be good to her and good to you, 
when the people who serve you for your money are 
gone to serve other people for their money — a man 
like John Howland, for example. Henry, there are 
true hearts at the old home; you will see it so one 
day. There’s no door like the old door at last.’ 

Charity liked to suggest marriages after her 
fancy; it was a country-woman’s trait. 

The horse stopped with a whinny, beginning 
another chapter in this wayside narrative. 

^ This is where the deacon used to watch nights 
with old Solomon Seal, after Solomon’s mind began 
to go. It was a hard case. You see what a man 
John Howland was. Young John is just like him. 
Maybe your mind will weaken some day — ^you 
wouldn’t like to be sent off to the hospital, city 
fashion, in such a case as that, now would you ? Your 
father lost his faculties before he died. You want 
just such a man as John Howland was — and his son 
John is just like him — to stand by you in your old 
age, one that will make a horse stop at a place of 
need. One such heart would be more to you than all 
the clubs and ringtums in the city. I’ll have to get 
out again or the horse won’t go.’ 

But Charioty continued to stop, and each pause 
by the way revealed some new virtue of the deceased 
John Howland, which virtue Charity declared was 
possessed in a very promising way by J ohn Howland, 


64 


Jack^s Cai^rier Pigeons. 


the younger. The horse stopped several times by 
the wayside, where Charity said he had been ac- 
customed to stand to wait for some poor children to 
gather Christmas greens in the early winter, and 
^ creeping ^ J enny, princes’ pine, holly leaves and 
berries and arbutuses and Mayflowers, in early spring 
— usually before the Easter festival. These decor- 
ative plants, creepers and flowers were sold by the 
good deacon in Boston to help the children ‘ pay for 
their schooling.’ 

They reached the place at last where John How- 
land was buried. The horse stopped again, and 
Charity pointed out the graves of the people to whom 
the preaching deacon’s life had been made a benefi- 
cence, and Anally she directed his eyes to the fern- 
covered place where the preaching deacon himself 
rested. 

The winds breathed low through the pines and 
hemlocks, which Charity called the ^ whispering 
greens.’ 

‘ The neighborhood lhat I used to know is 
altered,’ said the merchant, ^ and many of my old 
neighbors lie here. They were good, true-hearted 
people. I sometimse think I would like to come back 
and spend my summers in the old Mayflower Coun- 
try. The horses where I live do not stop on the way 
to the cemetery — horses and men pass hy homes 
of need sometimes. Charity, why did you send for 
me at this time ? ’ 


The Lone Pigeon. 


65 


^ Henry — I had something to say to you — but I 
cannot say it now. Something, they say, has hap- 
pened ! ’ 

What, Charity?’ 

^ There is a new-made grave over there- - see 
under the hemlock tree, by the sumacs. It is Albert 
Alden’s. His body was brought Lome here from 
San Francisco. He was one of the boys that old 
John Howlard kept from roing to the poor-farm. 
He brought him up and educated him — and they do 
say that something has happened. Haven’t you 
heard ? He has left him a fortune.’ 

The horse stopped once more. 

^ What now ? ’ said the merchant. ^ You need 
not get out. Charity. This remarkable story that the 
horse has been telling is no compliment to me. I 
am not going to stand this thing any longer.’ 

Henry Dean applied his cane vigorously to the 
back of the enchanted horse. 

Charioty rose up on his hind feet, as if about to 
ascend, and stood pawing the air, the flag waving 
over his blinders. He presented a very startling 
eight — with suggestions. 

^ Cracky ! Where is he going now. Charity ? ’ 
^^^Hp!’ 

^ But I am not ready to go that way,’ said the 
merchant. 

^ You are not — John Howland was.’ 

Charity once more got out of the back of the 

5 


66 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


wagon, when the fore feet of the enchanted animal 
descended to the earth agai% shaking the flag. 

^ Charity/ said Henry Dean, ^ you may turn the 
horse’s head towards home again. I am my heart 
now — my better self, and we are never sorry for the 
things that we do when we are our better selves.’ 

Charity caught up her bonnet by the string, rose 
up and gave it a swing. 

‘ You are yourself again, Henry Dean. Whoa ! ’ 
The horse stopped. 

^ What is money, Henry Dean ? The Incas of 
Peru, they didn’t take one coin of gold with them 
when they went to the land unseen; the kings of 
Golconda that the missionary books tell about, what 
did they carry with them into the world unknown ? ’ 

She gave her bonnet a wider swing, and the 
horse started. 

‘ Whoa ! ’ Charity continued her oration. 

‘ And as for fame, what is that ? The name of 
Shakespeare and that of Jim, the corn-planter, are 
alike sounds for the deserts of oblivion — ^the diSer- 
ence is only one of time. Who knows who built the 
pyramids of Egypt, Henry Dean V 

She gave her bonnet a wider swing. 

^ Wlioa ! It is only what you do for others that 
lasts, and to be true-hearted is more than anything 
else in life. I see it so — don’t you, Henry Dean? 
The horse told you that, Henry Dean ! ’ 

^ Cracky ! This all seems like a fairy book. 


The Lone Pigeon, 


67 


Yes, yes, I see things in your light. I favor the 
heart-side of life.’ 

^ John Howland is worth more than that. That 
Alden boy that his father kept out of the town-house, 
who has just died in Calaforny, left him a million. 
He inherited his uncle’s estate, that Alden boy. His 
uncle owned a mine. That is what the horse was try- 
ing to tfell you — didn’t you see how he pawed the 
air ? ’ 

They rode home through fairy-land, and Henry 
Dean and John Howland sat down side by side, after 
the turkey and pandowdy, to hear Eose sing : 

‘‘ ‘ The breaking waves dash high ! ’ ” 

When Jack heard of Captain Pigeon’s story of the 

Enchanted Horse,” he too wished to be told the 
stories that entertained the sailors’ evenings. Cap- 
tain Pigeon visited Jack’s room the next day, and 
repeated the story to him. What a pity it was that 
the pigeon could not have understood it too ! 

When Captain Pigeon had related the story to 
Jack a knock was heard at the door. A lady had 
come to see Jack. 

The right person has come to visit you now. 
Jack,” said the captain. She can tell fairy tales.” 

FRAU SUSANTTE^ WHO TOED FAIRY TALES. 

It was a Swiss family and their friends who first 


68 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


brought the kindergarten spirit to Boston, and 
among these lovely Swiss people was a quiet gentle 
woman from Yverdon, on the ISTeuchatel, under 
Jura, whom we will call Frau Susanne. 

She could tell fairy stories, and she cherished the 
theory that the education of the imagination of a 
child would do much to create the character of a 
child. 'Now the education of the imagination was 
neglected in the old Boston schools. 

Father Taylor believed in training the conscience 
through the imagination, and he liked Frau Su- 
sanne’s queer stories. 

Frau Susanne lived in North Square and she often 
visited Father Taylor’s schools in the Bethel. 

She told stories there; they were queer stories; 
here is one: 

THE KINDLY OX. 

Once upon a time, a deformed man named ^sop 
related a story called ^ The dog in the Manger.’ The 
dog would not eat the hay himself nor let the poor, 
hungry ox eat the hay. 

My story is not like that. 

There was once an ox. 

He was passing the kitchen window one day, 
aud stopped to drink at the well trough at the end of 
the house, and then he threw up his head to feel the 
water cool his throat and to listen. 

He heard the fat cook say something to her mis- 
tress. 


The Lone IHgeon, 


69 


It was something good. 

The ox went on to the barn. 

His master had filled his manger with hay, but 
on the hay lay the watch dog. 

^ This is a lovely day,’ said the ox, ^ and this is 
a good world. Listen to me, my good fellow, and I 
will tell you what I heard the cook say to the mis- 
tress ! ’ 

The dog lay dozing. 

^ She said something about a bone/ continued 
the ox. 

The dog lay dozing. 

^ What did she say ? ’ asked the dog. 

^ She said that she had put aside a bone for you. 
You may have it after your nap is over.’ 

The dog’s heart bounded ; his nap was over. 
He leaped down from the manger, and went home to 
enjoy his dinner, and left the ox to quietly eat the 
hay. Both were happy, and they were friendly ever 
after.” 

Frau Susanne used to relate another story which 
tended to make one contented with one’s lot. She 
told it in a queer way to children asking questions. 
She called it 

THE LITTLE OLD WOMAIST WHO VISITED THE MOON". 

There was an old woman whose name was Sky- 
High, Dame Sky-High. How what was her name ? ” 


70 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


“ Dame Sky-High/’ 

Yes, that is right — Dame Sky-High. She had 
little eyes just like lenses, and she could see almost 
to the stars. ^ 

She could make herself so light that she could 
go up into the air. One day she thought that she 
would like to go up to the moon. No one had trav- 
eled there. So she lightened her body by her fancy, 
and began to go up, up, up like the woman in the 
nursery rhyme who swept the cobwebs from the sky. 
Now where was she going ? ” 

To the moon to travel.” 

That’s right. But she had a hard journey. At 
sunset on the earth, she expected the sun to go down, 
but he didn’t go down. She could see him still 
shining. The air grew thin and cold. She traveled 
all night, .and could still see the sun. At last she 
arrived at the edge of the moon. The sun was still 
shining upon the face of the planet. She blew a 
horn to let the man in the moon know that she was 
coming. Now what did she do?” 

She blew a horn.” 

That’s right. But there wasn’t any man there. 
There wasn’t any man anywhere in that region. 
The land was all white and cold and dead. 

She began to travel about in search of a tavern. 
But there wasn’t any there. There were no flowers, 
no fruits, no animals. 

She was very thirsty and began to search for 
water, but there wasn’t any to be found* 


The Lone Pigeon, 


71 


^ Nothing to eat, nothing to drink/ said she, ^ and 
nobody to talk to. I’ll have to go back to the earth. 
But how am I going to get down again ? ’ 

The sun was still shining. Now what did she 
say ? ” 

‘ How am I going to get down again ? ’ 

Yes, yes. Well, there came a shadow over the 
sunlight, and she knew that there was a storm down 
below. She became very much afraid, and said 
over and over: 

^ How am I ever to get down ? How shall I ever 
find the place where the earth was ? ’ 

After the storm below, the sun began to shine 
again, and there arose a great rainbow like a hill of 
gold. 

Hf I can only get on to that,’ said the old 
woman, ^ I can slide down, and it will land me on the 
earth.’ 

So she climbed over the edge of the moon on to 
the rainbow and slid down. 

She began to sing, and was happy, when the 
thought came to her, that she might land in the 
ocean. But she went down very fast, and presently 
she saw a tall object in the air. It was the belfry of 
her own town. She got off there, and began to ring 
the bell, and the sexton came up to her, and lifted 
her down. The cat and dog came running out to see 
her, and she was glad to be at home again, among 
the orchards and wells and vines. 


72 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons. 


^ This world is a very pleasant country after 
all/ said the old woman, ^ and ITl be content to re- 
main at home, and never to travel far any more.’ 
Then she toid the old people that wherever they went 
never to make a journey to the moon, where there is 
nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and no one to whom 
to talk. 

^ You have the whole universe right at home, if 
you are only contented,’ said she. Now what did 
she say ? ” 

When he was told that Frau Susanne could re- 
late fairy stories. Jack desired to hear one of them. 
He was not much used to fairy lore. Frau Susanne 
talked with Jack about his lameness and promised 
him when she left that she would visit him again, 
and relate to him a story in the German way. 

Jack,” she said, you must be lonely, but your 
confinement here will give you a chance to think of 
life. A boy should not wholly depend upon others 
for his opinions. He should think for himself. He 
should follow good examples, but he should always 
learn to act for himself.” 

It was an odd story that Frau Susanne had to tell 
when she next visited Jack and the pigeon. We 
must tell you how it ran : 

THE OED WOMAH WHO KEPT A EEYHSTG SCHOOE. 

There was an old woman who lived alone, and 


The Lone Pigeon, 


73 


she still wished to make herself useful in some way, 
so she thought she would open a flying school. 

She went to her door one May morning, and 
called all the birds to assemble in the trees. They 
came, even the bald-headed eagle from the rocks, 
and she pushed back her hair, and fanned herself 
with her apron, for the day was warm, and thus ad- 
dressed them: 

There are always better days to come. Now 
all little birds should be taught to fly — what are 
their wings for ? If you will come to me, I will go 
with you to your nests, and teach the little ones how 
to fly.” 

But the owl took off his spectacles and blinked, 
and said: 

They can fly now ! ’’ 

Yes, yes, Mr. Owl, after a fashion, wobbly, and 
without the geometrical angle. Til teach them to 
fly rightly, and low, and high, and to dive, and I’ll 
teach the lark how to sing out of sight in blue hea- 
vens above the sun.” 

Then all the birds clapped their wings for joy. 

And in the fall, we will have an examination, 
and see which little bird can fly the highest, and the 
eagle shall act as jud'^e.” 

This decision made the owl envious, and he 
asked : 

Can you fly ? ” 

I — I don’t need to.” 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


U 


The birds clapped their wings again, and the duck 
said Cluck, cluck,’’ and the goose Quack, quack,” 
and the guinea hen had many things to say in a 
nervous way. 

Now,” added the old woman, you must all 
of you give me one egg out of every four that you 
lay, for my own living, and in return I’ll teach your 
fledglings the geometrical angle of the wing, and 
such flying as there will be seen in the air another 
year, the world never beheld before. Now all fly.” 

The birds all flew, even without a knowledge 
of the geometrical angle, and the old woman taught 
all the little birds to fly after the manner of the 
geometrical angle, and she feasted that summer on 
eggs. 

The eagle came down on examination day to in- 
spect the flying. The birds all flew after the manner 
of the geometrical angle as the old woman had fore- 
told, some high, some low, and some all about, and 
the king of birds spread his great wing, and pro- 
claimed : 

The world of wings is reformed. Never was 
seen the like in the air before. I decree to the old 
woman a gold medal and a monument. This is 
indeed a day of wonders.” 

And all the old birds and the young birds clapped 
their wing^- 


CHAPTEE V. 


jack's KINDEKCARTEK SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 
FATHER Taylor’s way of preaching as described 

BY CHARLES DICKENS. 

The pigeon’s wing healed rapidly, and the poor 
bird seemed to want the freedom of the open air. 
She would beat her wings against the window, 
and then drop to the floor and run back to the bed of 
poor Jack. The sailor boy from Southampton 
Water read all that was in the little bird’s heart. 

She has a nest of little ones somewhere,” 
said Jack to Father Taylor. I love the bird. 
Feel her little heart beat. It is not because she is 
afraid of me. She sat upon the headboard of the 
bed last night, and she dropped down upon my pil- 
low in the morning. The pigeons in the houses were 
all cooing as the sun came up. She did not coo ; she 
gave a little moan. She is thinking of the nest far 
away. Her little ones may be starving there. 
I’ll let her go to-morrow. 

Oh, preacher, that bird has taught me some- 
thing.’^ 


75 


76 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


What is it, Jammie, me b’y?’’ 

To pity every heart that beats. I would like to 
be a missionary — but that could never be — I have no 
education, and my record is bad.’^ 

It is the education of the heart that one most 
needs to do good in this world,’’ said the sailor 
preacher. 

I am a new man then, preacher.” 

How, Jack? Explain it to me.” 

I could explain the sunshine as well. I can 
only say that when I read the Scriptures now, 

“ ‘ I feel the love of God 
In my soul, 

I feel the love of God, 

In my heart ’tis shed abroad 
And I am on the heavenly road 
Of the Cross.’ 

To-morrow I will let the pigeon go. Preacher, 
she was sent to me. I am going to Avrite home to my 
mother to-day, and tell her all.” 

Boston, as we have said, is a kindergarten city. 
Even her playgrounds now are made to preach and 
to teach. 

When you visit the city in summer, reader, go to 
the Charles Bank playground between the two Cam- 
bridge bridges. See the children at play in the sand 
pens, under the care of the kindergarten teachers. 
They are hanpy; vines grow around them, flowers 
bloom about them, a lacework of green boughs 


Jach^s Kindergarten Sunday-School. 77 

screens the sun, but it is what the children are doing 
that makes them happy. It was a Froebel principle 
that a child is always contented and happy when he 
is creating something. We learn by doing/’ he 
said. The purpose of life is to develop our noblest 
faculties. 

Father Taylor had this principle in mind, but 
he knew little of the Swiss kindergarten method. 

One day Frau Susanne came to see Father Tay- 
lor about a kindergarten school in which she was in- 
terested. 

I notice a great change in Jack,” said Father 
Taylor to the woman, his heart is growing kind, 
but he does not take the interest in his Sunday- 
school lessons that I wish. He does not learn the 
historical Scriptures well. That makes other boys 
indifferent. Some of them need to be civilized.'' 

Civilization,” said Frau Susanne, is not a mat- 
ter of the head. Father Taylor, but of the heart.” 

Father Taylor looked very much surprised. 

“ A man may have learning and yet be hard at 
heart,” said Frau Susanne. Pharaoh had head 
learning.” 

So he did,” said Father Taylor. 

And all the emperors of Rome.” 

Yes.” 

And King Herod.” 

Yes.” 

And Philip of Spain, and the Duke of Alva.” 


Y8 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons, 


Father Taylor looked surprised again. He had 
not thought of these things before. 

Father Taylor/^ said Frau Susanne, what 
the people need is a new heart education to make 
a new generation of men; a generation to whom 
injustice and cruelty and war shall be impossible. 
A pigeon has taught Jack much; I once sat under 
Froebeks teaching, in the castle of Yverdon; I think 
I might tell you how to make Jack a good Sunday- 
school teacher.’^ 

Teacher!’’ exclaimed Father Taylor, scholar, 
you mean 1 ” 

No, teacher. Let Jack become interested in 
teaching o hers, and he will learn himself. ^ We 
learn by doinr^.’ It is the teaching that comes from 
the heart that makes good men. Mere book learn- 
ing is not the highest education. Were I you. Father 
Taylor, I would establish a kindergarten school right 
here under the pigeon house.” 

But I cannot have a day school here.” 

Then I would have a kindergarten Sunday- 
school.” 

On Sunday ? ” 

Yes, on Sunday.” 

Did you ever hear of any one who kept a kinder- 
garten Sunday-school on Sunday ? ” 

Yes.” 

Who?” 

The Great Teacher Himself.” 


JacKs Kindergarten Sunday-School. 79 
Where ? 

On the mountains and in the fields of Galilee/^ 
Consider the lilies how they grow/ was one of 
His field teachings. A kindergarten school teaches 
the young how to grow. ^ The purpose of life is to 
grow/ after one has the first principle of growth, 
as Froebel had. He founded his education on the 
principle. First seek ye the Kingdom of God.^ 
The word ^ First ’ haunted him, until he had obeyed 
it himself, and then he wished to establish a school 
that should grow out of that first principle.’^ 

Would you be willing to start a school like 
that? ’’ asked Father Taylor. 

Yes, in my own house, right here in North 
Square.’’ 

But how would you begin ? ” 

Plants teach us as well as pigeons. I would be- 
gin as Christ began.” 

How was that ? ” 

He proclaimed that the ^ Kingdom of God ’ had 
come. I would teach the pupils in my school what 
the Kingdom of God is, and what it is like, and how 
it will grow.” 

Jack came into the room on his crutch. 

^^Here, Jack,” said Frau Susanne, am plan- 
ning a new kind of school for the sailor boys. Take a 
piece of chalk and go to the black board. Let me 
show you how I would begin a series of lessons, in the 
kindergarten way, after the way that Christ taught. 


80 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


Write ^ First seek ye the Kingdom of God?’’’ 

Jack wrote the words, leaning one arm on his 
crutch. 

That should be my first lesson,” said Frau 
Susanne. 

But how do you find the Kingdom of God ? ” 
asked Jack. 

I expected that question,” said Frau Susanne. 

Write down after that, ^ Except a man be born 
again, be cannot enter the Kingdom of God.’ ” 

J ack wrote, and a very serious look came into his 
face. 

That should be my second lesson,” said Frau 
Susanne. 

I want to know these things,” said Jack. How 
may I know that there is a God, and that my soul 
will live forever ? I want to know these things. 
I shall die, Frau Susanne. All the old kingdoms 
of the world have passed away. I never want to die, 
Frau Susanne. I want to live forever. What did 
Christ say to such as I ? ” 

Jack, Jack, I expected that question. He said: 
^ If any man will to do God’s will, he shall 
know.’ ” 

Twill, Frau Susanne.” 

^ He said, ^ If any man keep My sayings he shall 
never see death. ’ ” 

will keep his sayings, Frau Susanne. I be- 
gin to love Him now.” 


JacKs Kindergarten Sunday-School, 81 

Then yon have already the incorruptible seed, 
the new birth. The next thing, Jack, is to grow. 
To do, is to grow.’’ 

Jack,” continued Frau Susanne, if you will 
help me, I am going to begin an evening school in 
my rooms, for sailor bovs who will not go any- 
where else. I am going to give a series of lessons 
on the Kingdom of Heaven, that is the only King- 
dom that will last. Write down on the board, Jack, 
my lessons, this way. 

1st. What is the Kingdom ? 

2d. How to enter it. 

3d. How Christ taught it. 

Kow, Jack, I would set some flower pots in the 
window, and I would have the boys bring me differ- 
ent kinds of seeds, and I would plant the seeds in the 
pots, and week by week I would study their growth 
with the boys. I would show them the value of 
planting the right kind of seed. I would then teach 
them all the saying of Christ that relate to the King- 
dom of God, and the Kingdom of Heaven — the ever- 
lasting Kingdom. I would teach these parables. 
Put them down: 

^ The Sower.’ 

^ The Tares.’ 

^ The Arrested Seed.’ 

^ The Mustard Seed.’ 

^ The Leaven.’ 

^ The Vineyard.’ 


82 


J %t Vs Carri er Pigeon s. 


^ The Lost Sheep/ 

^ The Good Samaritan/ 

^ The Householder/ 

^ The Talents/ 

^ The Midnight Friend/ 

^ The Supper/ ’’ 

Is there no sailor parable? ’’ asked Jack. 

Yes. ^ The Goodly Pearl.’ 

And I would illustrate all these things/’ con- 
tinued Frau Susanne. I would bring in a vine to 
trim, and would show how the leaven works, and 
would have you. Jack, draw pictures on the board 
of all the stories in the parables.” 

Me, Frau Susanne ? ” 

Yes, you. Jack, and I would teach my school 
everything that Christ said in regard to the King- 
dom of God. I would begin by giving every one a 
Bible with a concordance, and I would show how the 
Bible was first written and made.” 

That would be a very interesting kind of a 
school,” said Father Taylor. I think I would like 
to attend it myself, at least on week days.” 

But thus far my plan relates to teaching only. 
How in regard to doing. There are many help- 
less folk in this seafaring neighborhood. I would 
have my scholars go to them every week and carry 
them something to make them happy. I would have 
them bring here the blind and the lame. It is peo- 
ple with good hearts that make a happy world, and 
Christ said — put this down on the board. Jack — 


Jack^s Kindergarten Sunday-School. 83 

^ As ye 2*0 preach, saying: the Kingdom of God 
is at hand.’ In my school I will wish to teach all 
that Christ taught in regard to the Kingdom of 
God.” 

I wish I could do something in the world,” said 
Jack, be something, help somebodv. I feel some- 
thing new beginning in me. I want to live for 
others, to give my life to others in my life. Why, 
Father Taylor, I don’t know but I myself have en- 
tered the Kingdom. I w^ant to study about it, and 
have others do the same. Frau Susanne, I will do 
for you everything I can in your new school. I 
will try to teach people how to go up aloft.” 

Good for you, Jack, my boy,” said Father Tay- 
lor. 

So the new kindergarten school began in Frau 
Susanne’s humble rooms. The good woman called 
her work The Story of the Kingdom for Chil- 
dren.” Jack became a teacher and he was a ready 
scholar himself from that day. 

Frau Susanne was delighted. She was begin- 
ning kindergarten schools and had obtained a sub- 
scription from the poet Longfellow, who loved the 
children. There was no Charles Bank in the city 
then, no object teaching, no kindergarten Sunday- 
schools, no Marine or Franklin Park, with the 
thought of the heart development of children. They 
would come in time, and Boston would be a kinder- 
garten city, as it is, as we have said. 


84 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 


Any one with a single kindergarten guide could 
begin a school in this manner, with seeds, vines, 
birds, and the crippled, the helpless and the blind, 
for pupils. The subject of what Christ taught about 
the Kingdom of God would furnish the suggestion of 
the work. Happy are they who begin the right life 
in others, it is heart education as we have said 
that the world most needs. So Father Taylor came 
to see life, and so did poor Jack. 

There are five things worth living for,’’ Frau 
Susanne used to say. They are : 

To know God. 

To master self. 

To know that one has immortal life. 

To know how to serve the needs of others. 

And when one has this divine life, to teach it 
to others.” 

Even Jack could have and do all these things. 

Father Taylor, as we said, was a kindergarten 
preacher, but he did not know it. He forgot himself 
when preaching, and made his illustrations live in 
the kindergarten way. Would you like to know how 
he preached ? Charles Dickens thus vividly de- 
scribes his way of presenting truth: 

FATHER TAYLOR^'s SERMON STORY. 

The service commenced with a hymn, to which 
succeeded an extemporary prayer. It had the fault 


JacJc^s Kindergarten Sunday -School, 85 

of frequent repetition, incidental to all such prayers ; 
but it was plain and comprehensive in its doctrines, 
and breathed a tone of general sympathy and charity, 
which is not so commonly a characteristic of this 
form of address to the Deity as it might be. That 
done, he opened his discourse, taking for his text a 
passage from the Song of Solomon, laid upon the 
desk before the commencement of the service by 
some unknown member of the congregation : ^ Who 
is this coming up from the wilderness, leaning on 
the arm of her beloved ! ’ 

He handled the text in all kinds of ways, and 
twisted it into all manner of shapes; but always 
ingeniously, and with a rude eloquence, well adapted 
to the comprehension of his hearers. Indeed if I 
be not mistaken, he studied their sympathies and un- 
derstandings much more than the display of his own 
powers. His imagery was all drawn from the sea, 
and from the incidents of a seaman’s life; and was 
often remarkably good. He spoke of them of ^ that 
glorious man, Lord Helson,’ and of Collingwood; 
and drew nothing in, as the saying is, by the head 
and shoulders, but brought it to bear upon his pur- 
pose, naturally, and with a sharp mind to its effect. 
Sometimes, when much excited with his subject, 
he had an odd way — compounded of John Bunyan 
and Balfour of Burleigh — of taking his great quarto 
Bible under his arm, and pacing up and down the 
pulpit with it; looking steadily down, meantime. 


86 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


into the midst of the congregation. Thus, when 
he applied his text to the first assemblage of his hear- 
ers, and pictured the wonder of the church at their 
presumption in forming a congregation among them- 
selves., he stopped short with his Bible under his 
arm in the manner I have described, and pursued 
his discourse after this manner: 

^ Who are these — who are they — who are these 
fellows ? Where do they come from % Where are 
they going to ? Come from ! What^s the answer ? ' 
— leaning out of the pulpit, and pointing downward 
with his right hand: ^ From below! ’ — starting back 
again, and looking at the sailors before him: ^ From 
below, my brethren. From under the hatches of sin, 
battened down above you by the evil one. That^s 
where you came from ! ’ — a walk up and down the 
pulpit : ^ and where are you going ? Aloft ! ’ — 
very softly and pointing upward : ^ Aloft 1 ’ — louder : 
^ Aloft 1 ’ — louder still : ^ That’s where you are go- 
ing — with a fair wind, — all taut and trim, steering 
direct for Heaven in its glory, where there are no 
storms or foul weather, and where the wicked cease 
from troubling, and the weary are at rest.’ — Another 
walk : ^ That’s where you are going to, my friends. 
That’s it. That’s the place. That’s the port. That’s 
the haven. It’s a blessed harbor — still water there, 
in all changes of the winds and tides; no driving 
ashore upon the rocks, or slipping your cables and 
running out to sea, there: Peace — Peace — Peace — 


Jack^s Kindergarten Sunday -School, 87 

all peace ! ’ — Another walk, and patting the Bible 
under his left arm : ^ What ! These fellows are com- 
ing from the wilderness, are they? Yes. From 
the dreary blighted wilderness of Iniquity, whose 
only crop is Death. But do they lean upon any- 
thing — do they lean upon nothing, these poor sea- 
men ? ’ — Three raps upon the Bible : ^ Oh yes. — 
Yes. — They lean upon the arm of their Beloved ’ — 
three more raps : ^ upon the arm of their Beloved ’ — 
three more, and a walk : ^ Pilot, guiding-star, and 
compass, all in one, to all hands — here it is ’ — three 
more : ^ Here it is. They can do their seaman’s 
duty manfully, and be easy in their minds in the 
utmost peril and danger, with this ’ — two more : 
^ They can come, even these poor fellows can come, 
from the wilderness leaning on the arm of their Be- 
loved, and go up — up — up ! ’ — raising his hand 
higher, and higher, at every repetition of the word, 
so that he stood with it at last stretched above his 
head, regarding them in a strange, rapt manner, and 
pressing the book triumphantly to his breast, until 
he gradually subsided into some other portion of his 
discourse. 

I have cited this, rather as an instance of the 
preacher’s eccentricities than his merits, though 
taken in connection with his look and manner, and 
the character of his audience, even this was striking. 
It is possible, however, that my favorable impression 
of him may have been greatly influenced and 


88 


Jacks’s Carrier Pigeons, 


sitrengthened, firstly, by his impressions upon his 
hearers that the true observance of religion was not 
inconsistent with a cheerful deportment and an ex- 
act discharge of the duties of their station, which, 
indeed, it scrupulously required of them ; and 
secondly, by his cautioning them not to set up any 
monopoly in Paradise and its mercies. I never 
heard these two points so wisely touched (if indeed 
I have ever heard them touched at all) by any 
preacher of that kind, before.” 

Such was Father Taylor in the Strangers’ Sabbath 
Home in Boston, for such his church was. He 
preached to the homeless, but great minds of 
America and of other lands came to hear him. It 
was kindergarten preaching — it pictured truth, and 
made one feel that there was hope for all humanity, 
and that open and free was the way to the cross to the 
wayfarers of all lands. 


CHAPTER VL 


THE SMOKE IN THE SNOW BANK/"" 

Jack now hobbled about the place, some days bet- 
ter than others. One day Jack was unable to leave 
his bed. Father Taylor came to see him. The 
bird seemed listless, except that it moaned and 
seemed pining. 

The bird is pining away for her mate and young 
ones,’’ said Jack. She thinks of them now that she 
can fly. Why not open the window and let her go ? ” 

The sailor preacher took the bird in his hands, and 
went to the window, and opened it. 

It was a clear October morning, and the bird 
clapped its wings with delight when she felt the air 
and saw the way open to the sky. 

She cooed for the flrst time, lifted her wings, and 
rose up spirally over the old Horth Square. Some 
of the pigeons on the perches at the opening of the 
dove cote attempted to follow her, but they fell back. 
She flew high directly upward, and circled round and 
round. Then she darted in a straight line toward the 
northeast. 


89 


90 


Jack'^s Carrier Pigeons. 


J ack watched her from his bed. 

She is heading towards the Provinces/’ said the 
preacher. 

I wonder if she will ever come back again ? ” 
asked Jack. That is indeed a messenger bird — 
like the one that went out from the ark. I will try 
to be true as I believe that bird to be true to her own. 
I have written mother all. I wonder if we will 
ever see that wing again.” 

I wonder, too.” 

We may, wings are providences.” 

I shall not forget how she mounted from my 
hands into the sky,” said the preacher. Upward 
wings, upward wings! Silver and gold they were 
as she rose into the sunlight. That is the way the old 
Scriptures describe the wings of a dove. Silver and 
gold. Oh, those upward wings, and then that little 
heart turning towards homo in the sky 1 ” 

Jack turned his face towards the pillow, and cried. 

Jack began to dream about the kind of a school 
that Frau Susanne would like to open on Sunday 
for destitute children. She had told him the plan 
which she had unfolded to Father Taylor. There 
were children who could not well attend the regular 
school in the Bethel. Jack’s heart went out to them. 

THE SINGING MOUSE. 

One day as Jack lay on his bed, a little mouse ran 


The Smoke in the Snow BankT 


91 


across the room to eat a bit of the pigeon^s feed. 
Jack did not move. 

The next day the mouse came again, and feeling 
safe, ran across Jack’s bed. 

So the little mouse came day by day, and one day 
stopped on the bed. and rubbed his face with his 
feet, and then ate some crumbs of cheese out of Jack’s 
plate. 

The next day Jack saved a bit of the cheese for 
the mouse, and did the same for some days. 

One night. Jack heard something strange on his 
bed. It sounded like a curious bird. It was sing- 
ing. 

He lay still and wondered. 

The singing went on — it came from the foot of 
the bed at first — then drew near to Jack’s hand, 
and something ran into his hand — something 
singing. 

It was the mouse. 

It became tame now, and used to come out of some 
hidden place in the darkness and sing to Jack every 
night. 

One morning Jack found the little mouse dead in 
his bed, for it is said to be disease that makes a sing- 
ing mouse. However this ma;^ be, Jack had gained 
through the little visitor a ne^v idea of the friendly 
nature that exists in the heart of every little animal, 
and he came to wonder if there were not a common 
bond between all hearts that beat, and he pitied the 


92 Jack'^s Carrier Pigeons, 

rejected world of little animals, and lie wished it 
were not too many. 

And then Jack thought, does not everything that 
has consciousness live again where them is more 
room? He hoped so. He would ask Frau Susanne, 
or Miss Peabody, or Mrs. Agassiz, the Boston Kin- 
dergartners. They favored his views — which came 
from the heart; it may be that all heart suggestions 
come true in the end. All consciousness grows 
better as it grows. 

November. The leaves were falling. The orch- 
ard boughs were bending with fruit. The days were 
growing shorter. 

Towards the end of November there came a great 
storm. The sailors spent their evenings in doors, 
and the story telling was renewed. 

The stages- still ran then, and one of them came 
daily to the old Horth Square. 

The stories began to have a Thanksgiving Day 
flavor, especially those of good Captain Pigeon, and 
one of these related to old Boston days. It was a 
partly true story, and it pictures the early times, so 
we give it here. It was of an old woman whose 
house was snowed in. 

THE OLD RAMBLING HOUSE; OR^ THE SMOKE IN THE 
SNOW. A THANKSGIVING STORY. 

The strange tale that I have to tell is hardly more 
remarkable than those found in several Hew England 


The Srnohe in the Snow BanhT 93 

histories, in which wonders of folklore are recorded. 
Such remarkable providences,’’ as the curious in- 
cidents were called, are among the most real pictures 
of New England life; the true history of New Eng- 
land will never be written until some one has the 
genius to picture the homes by the great elms and 
tall well-sweeps, by recording its folk tales. The folk 
tales of Germany are the truest history of the Ger- 
man people. 

There was an old rambling house on the branch of 
the Bay Path that led into the Connecticui Valley, 
that had a curious origin. Its history had sugges- 
tions that might have furnished Longfellow a congen- 
ial subject for a poem. It was associated with a 
story which I will call The Indian Guide,” a tale 
often told, in part, by the chimney corner fires. 

According: to this story, a young pioneer, whom I 
will call Hazell, came to the valley in the early days 
to find a place for a home for himself and a lovely 
girl of Ipswich, Massachusetts, whom be wished to 
marry. lie found the spot where the old house now 
stands. lie built a cabin, went back to Ipswich for 
his bride, and was married. The couple packed 
their goods on a single horse, and themselves walked 
through the woods all the way to the Connecticut 
Valley, led by an Indian guide. Here was a wed- 
ding journey such as never has been recorded in any 
folklore history. So much of the story is known to 
be true. 


94 


Jach's Carrier Pigeons. 


The guide fell sick and died near the end of the 
journey. He directed the couple how to finish the 
trip, gathered up his feet and said : — 

I will follow still; I will be faithful.’’ 

The new couple saw the future when they first 
looked down from some high rocks on the Connecti- 
cut Valley. They lived for a time in the little cabin; 
then the pioneer built the rambling house, and it 
was reported that the Indian guide used to appear 
there and warn them of any coming danger. It is 
of this forest house that I have a story to tell. 

It stood on the borders of some great meadows, 
which were glistening white in winter, sea-green in 
spring, and wavy in summer. It looked up to the 
tall hills that turned red in autumn. A long orchard 
sprang up near it, and the trees became giants, and 
under them bushels of apples emitting a cidery odor 
rolled on the ground. A barn was built there, and 
grew in extension of stables year by year. Behind 
the house and barn were high rocks, against which the 
north wind blew. After the Revolution, the stage 
stopped there and exchanged horses. 

The house grew ; there was added to it a lean- 
to ” which became covered with woodbine and grape- 
vines. In the autumn, the roof lay red with wood- 
bine leaves, and purple with grapes. 

The first generation of Hazells passed away, and 
another and another ; but the friendly Indian guide, 
after the manner of farmhouse superstitions, was re- 


“ The Smoke in the Snow BankT 


95 


ported to be seen in dark corners of the horny oak 
rooms. He was a friendly house spirit, and his re- 
ported appearance did not terrify women or chil- 
dren. An old Hew England house without a ghost 
legend would have been a very common affair. This 
house had a haunted room, the Indian’s, and supersti- 
tious suggestions were sure to follow the history of 
the Hew England farm. 

The house began to crumble at length, and its 
roof afforded but a poor shelter even for the friendly 
Indian. 

The house and barn fell to a maiden lady, named 
Clementine, — Clementine Hazell. 

A good-hearted woman was the same Clementine, 
a mother to forlorn children, and a sister to every- 
body. She cultivated her own garden, around which 
was a wall covered with house leeks, and a peony, 
which she called piney,” in the middle. She put 
off ” eggs for her West India goods ; a friendly tin 
peddler visited her once a month, bringing many 
wares, spices, and luxuries, and she drove sharp, 
friendly trades with him. So she was happy, wore 
a silk gown to meeting, and put money into the mis- 
sionary box. 

The rest of the historic Hazell family had gone to 
the cities, or out West.” When the Hazell boys of 
two or more families fell sick amid early life in the 
city, they came home to Aunt Clementine, who re- 
ceived them with open arms, and sometimes lent ” 


96 


JacTc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


them money to begin again lifers struggle for sue* 
cess. Among ten of a family one will be found 
with grateful, human heart. Such a one out of ten 
Hazells, nine of whom were forgetful, was Frank 
Hazell, who, after many returns to Aunt Clemen- 
tine, and beginning again,’’ became a very prosper- 
ous man, after the Revolution and Sam Adams’s 
day. 

I set a lot of store by Frank,” the survivor of 
the Rambling House used to say, because I have 
done so much for him. We set the most by those for 
whom we do the most. As for the rest of them, 
their hearts were born a little to one side, but Frank’s 
was born in the right place. You needn’t ever tell 
of it,” she would add, confidentially, to a neighbor, 
^^but Frank used to kiss me when he went away. 
That made my heart dance for a week at a time, and 
left stars in my memory. I would work my hands 
off for Frank. I always try to live so that I will 
have nothing to reflect upon.” 

She used to say to the good people who stayed 
between services ” at noon in the old meeting 
house : I sometimes get awful lonesome, living all 

by myself there with no one but the cat and hens, 
and the Indian guide for company, and he don’t 
come very often. I commonly see him about the 
time Frank comes home. It is a precious sight of 
company to have him round,” meaning that the 
fancy of a house spirit was company. 


The Smoke in the Snow Bank.^^ 


97 


Frank? There is always one heart in a family 
that is true to aunts and uncles and old places. 
Frank continued to be true to this old country aunt, 
as was the ghostly Indian guide. He came home one 
Thanksgiving week, brought his wife and children, 
and fixed up the burying ground. After he did that, 
it made lone Miss Clementine happy just to think of 
Frank, all the time,’^ as she said, night and day.’’ 

He humored Miss Clementine’s superstition by 
telling her that the good Indian ” would always 
protect her. He came back again on a Thanksgiving 
week to the old Eambling House, and offered Miss 
Clementine a home in the city with him. She re- 
fused the offer, but it made her cup of happiness 
full. 

I wouldn’t like to leave the family graveyard, 
and the house, and the Indian, all alone,” she said, 
meaning the cld associations. I want to live so 
as to have nothing to reflect upon; but, if you will 
promise to come once a year, on Thanksgiving Day, 
I will ask nothing more of you, or of the Lord, or 
of anybody.” 

Frank made the promise, took her thin hands in 
his, kissed her withering cheek, and went away. 

He fulfilled his promise. Year after year, on the 
Saturday before Thanksgiving week, the stage 
stopped at the Rambling House, and Frank and his 
family mounted the old stone steps to make the good 

7 


98 


JacKs Carrier Pigeons. 


woman happy and see the friendly Indian ghost, 
then a very old tradition. 

I never could have a thankful Thanksgiving/’ 
Frank used to say, without a visit to Aunt Clemen- 
tine.’’ 

One year there came a strange November. 
The Indian summer weather was like July. The 
forests wore a faded hue, but did not turn red or 
yellow. The jays had a lively time in storing their 
food. 

But toward the end of the month the sky darkened. 
It suddenly became terribly cold. The clouds seemed 
to lie about the earth. No sun appeared. People 
fled to their fires, and could not keep warm. 

Then the weather slightly moderated, and it be- 
gan to snow, very gently at first. The storm thick- 
ened with an icy wind that increased in violence and 
blew to a hurricane. Such a wild storm was out of 
season. Snows that we now call blizzards ” used 
to come in March, but seldom in November. Even 
the cities became blocked in snow. The world shiv- 
ered. The cattle shook as if with palsy. 

The wind kept clear open spaces. It piled 
the snow against rocks, houses, and walls, and left 
fields bare. 

Frank was preparing to go to the old Kambling 
House for Thanksgiving when this memorable storm 
began. How anxiously he watched the drifts pile 
up. 


“ The Smohe in the Snow BanhP 99 

We can’t go back to the Valley this year/’ said 
his wife. It is impossible. It would take a week 
to clear the road.” 

But think of Aunt Clementine/’ said Frank. 

Something in my heart tells me that I ought to go, 
or try to go ; it may be the Indian, though I never see 
ghosts. How hurt poor old Clementine would be 
not to have me come ! It would seem as if I had de- 
serted her in the stor ” 

After the storm the clouds broke, and the sun 
looked out on the earth again, but there rose another 
long wind-gust, and piled the loose snow higher in 
resistant places. Then it hailed, and the snow 
crusted, the surface becoming as slippery as ice, in 
some places. 

The old stage came from Boston, and Frank hailed 
the driver. 

You’ve broken through.” 

Yes, but my feet are frozen.” 

Will you return to Worcester to-morrow ? ” 

Ho, never. I could not do it and live. The 
roads are clear, but the walls along the roads are 
covered five or ten feet deep, and in the turns of the 
roads are banks ten to twenty feet high.” 

Could I ride to the Connecticut Valley by the 
Bay Path on horseback ? ” 

Yes, you could plunge through. The roads 
would be onen most of the way, but your feet and 
hands would freeze. Are any of your folks dy- 
ing?” 

L.otC. 


100 


JacVs Carrier Pigeons, 


He returned to his wife. 

I have resolved to go, — I can ^ plunge through 
on horseback/ the stage-driver says. I will put on 
mittens and a yarn comforter, and leggings, and a 
cape overcoat, and will mount the long-handled wood- 
en shovel on my shoulder and give the horse the 
rein.^’ 

But it is unnecessary for you to expose your- 
self.’^ 

That may be, but I could not be contented not to 
go. I promised her I would go every year. I want 
to live so that I will have nothing to reflect upon. 
Just think what she did for all of us, — nursed us 
through canker rash and scarlet fever, and gave us 
her hard-earned money when we most needed it. 
Don’t you worry about me, for a minute. I’m de- 
termined to fulfill my promise, and the horse will fly, 
and my heart will be warm and sing songs. She'll 
be glad to see me in this stress, — what is life for ? ” 
The horse did fly. The road lay open, and where 
the great drifts appeared in bends of the Bay Path, 
the horse resolutely plunged through, in one or two 
places by the help of the long-handled shovel. 

The houses along the Bay Path were partly buried 
in the snow. Some of them that faced the north 
were banked to the chamber windows. Birds lay 
dead in the way. The meadows in the wake of the 
northwest wind were swept almost bare of snow, 
which lay piled about rocks and walls and ridges 


‘‘ The Smoke in the S710W BankT 


101 


and clusters of trees. The crows flew about him caw- 
ing in the air, as if to ask him the meaning of all 
this overturn of landscapes. It was a wild ride, 
and he looked queerly indeed as he galloped along, 
with his cape flying, and the long-b mdled wooden 
shovel over his shoulder. But his heart beat gener- 
ously and warmly as be thought of the joy that he 
was bearing with him. 

He arrived at the guide-boards at length, that 
pointed the way to the crossroad to the old Rambling 
House. The way lay open, and he dashed down the 
old road between the walls of snow. 

At noon the great meadows came into view. They 
lay shining bleak and bare. There was not a single 
drift on them except around the haystacks. 

Then he looked for the old Rambling House. The 
view startled him. His heart bounded. It was not 
there. A great white surface of snow lay against 
the rocks, but the house seemed to be gone, the barn, 
the dooryard trees. 

He gave the rein to the horse and asfain rode up to 
the place with staring eyes, when something appeared 
that made his blood flow warm again. 

A column of smoke was rising from the snow. 
He had never seen a smoking snowbank before. It 
was then nearly noon of the second day of his jour- 
ney. The sun was again breaking through the 
clouds, and the smoke rose up spirally and silvered 
in tbe sun, 


102 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons. 


There was an odor in the air. It was of roast 
goose, marjoram, and onions. He had smelled the 
same savory odor for many years at Thanksgiving, 
and this was Thanksgiving Day, and the hour was 
near noon. 

As he stood looking at the smoke in the snow, a 
marvelous sight appeared: not the ghost Indian of 
three generations, but something more human. 

A broom rose up amid the snow where the house 
used to be. It waved to and fro. Then a head in 
a quilted hood followed the waving broom. Then 
a form in a camlet cloak and a boa tippet appeared. 

The form waving the broom stood over the place 
where the smoke was ascending from the snow. 

The form lowered the broom and swept the snov/- 
bank. The red top of the chimney appeared. 

Then the form looked out on the road and mea- 
dows. 

She saw Frank sitting on his horse, with the shovel 
over his shoulder. 

Hurrah, — the Lord be praised ! ’’ shouted Frank, 
lustily. 

She raised her left hand over her hood. 

The land alive ! ’’ cried the form, from the high 
bank of snow under the rocks. I knew you were 
coming; IVe seen the Indian. How, that is what I 
call being true-hearted. The Lord be praised f We 
will mingle our praises. The Lord never heard a 
psalm like this before. Let me hear you holler/’ 
Frank hollered/’ 



The form^waving the broom stood over the place where the 
smoke was ascending. (Page 102.) 








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‘‘ The Smoke in the Snow Bank,^'" 

She applied her broom again, and the ridgepole 
of the roof appeared. There she rested and called: 

Franks’ 

Put your horse into the barn,’’ she added, rest- 
ing on her broom, a birch one. It is all clear on 
the other side of the barn, as I can see from here. 
I got up through the scuttle. It’s real warm up 
here, and the dinner is all ready, — ^goose, marjoram 
and onions, boiled pudding, and mince pies and all 
the fixings. I’m proper glad you’ve come, and the 
Indian will be glad, too, though you can’t see him. 
N’ow, this is something to be thankful for. There 
ain’t many people in this world that have so much 
to be thankful for as I. I’m mightily favored by 
Providence. I can sing right out of my heart, to- 
day. The Lord be praised ! I can shout the praises 
of the Lord! ’Tain’t every one can.” 

Frank Hazell found an open way into the barn 
around on the other ” side. He came to the moun- 
tainous snow bank with the long-handled shovel, and 
began to dig a path. 

How, you needn’t do that,” piped the form from 
the ridgepole. *lt would take too long, and the din- 
ner would get cold. I’ll push the quilting frames 
down to you out of the scuttle, and you climb up on 
them part way, and then I’ll drop down the spare 
well rope. I’ll make it proper easy for you. Then 
we’ll go down the scuttle, and the dinner will be 
hot,™roast goose, steamed mince pie, and apple jack. 


104 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


and a dozen things just as they used to have ’em. 
The Indian will he proper glad that you have come, 
though he has been dead for two generations. The 
Lord is good to his own, and how much we do have 
in this world to be thankful for! Heaven is made 
of just such stuff as your heart is made of, and I have 
all this, and heaven, too. I can shout the praises of 
the Lord, and I never knew what that scriptur’ meant 
till now.” 

Trank climbed to the ridgepole over the bank with 
the aid of the frames and ropes. He carried in this 
ascension a very happy heart, — full of thanksgiving. 

The two descended into the house under the snow 
through the scuttle, and when Trank returned to 
Boston, he said to his wife : — 

I never enjoyed another Thanksgiving like that 
with good old Clementine, in the house under the 
snow. We talked of old times, and I slept in the 
haunted room, and I would have given a doubloon 
to have seen the Indian guide, but he never appears 
to me, but I hardly like Clementine the less for her 
fancy of the spirit of the good Indian.” 

It was the last time. The poor old woman was 
gathered to her fathers before the falling of another 
winter’s snow. Trank Hazell set a white stone 
among the myrtles there, and was always glad that 
his heart had been so true, and that he had nothing 
to reflect upon.” 

It takes a sacriflce to make a Thanksgiving. 


CHAPTER YII* 


A THANKSGIVING STORY THE LITTLE RED SQUIRRELS 

ON THE ROOF. 

Jack grew worse again. He lay in bed; his leg 
bandaged. The doctor said that he must not try 
to walk until the bandage was removed. The sailor 
preacher had asked him to read the Bible through, 
and he began this study in bed, dreaming again of a 
Sunday-school for destitute children. The preacher 
came to him daily to explain the Scriptures to him, 
as he read them. He brought to him a copy of 
Thomas a Kempis, and a short history of the world. 

J ack heard the pigeons cooing in the boxes over the 
cock-loft every morning, and the day before Thanks- 
giving a very curious thing occurred. 

He woke in the gray dawn. The door opened at 
the foot of the stairs. He heard one say : 

Go along, why do you hesitate ? ” 

It was Mother Taylor^s voice. 

Oh, I can’t,’’ was the reply. We have enough, 
all that we need.” 

But the house is full of company.” 


105 


106 


Jac¥s Carrier Pigeons, 


‘‘ Let them fare like ourselves then. I can eat 
Johnny cakes, but I can’t wring the necks of those 
birds — they are Gospel birds — they help me in 
my work. Oh, let us turn back from this bloody 
work.” 

Jack heard the door close, and all was still in the 
stairway. AVhat did this strange thing mean ? 

The story of the Enchanted Horse had much inter- 
ested the sailors. 

That was a kind of a parable story,” said the 
preacher to the captain, that you told us the other 
night, and some of the men were mightily taken with 
it. We have agreed to ask you to relate the story on 
Thanksgiving evening. I am going to invite some 
folks to come in and listen to it — Emerson perhaps or 
Mrs. Mann, and Miss Peabody. Dr. Ware may drop 
in, and I am going to ask all the sailor boys in the 
port. Never you mind the great and learned people, 
but tell a story that will go to the hearts of the sailor 
boys. Stories should preach. Our blessed Lord 
preached by stories' — what are parables but stories ?” 

Many of these sailor boys,” said the captain, 
ran away and went to sea. They imagined that 
they had received some affront. Now, Thanksgiving 
days should be forgiving days. I will tell another 
old Cape story since the boys like the soul that was 
in the tale of the Enchanted Horse.” 

Poston contributed liberally towards a Thanks- 
giving dinner at the Sailors’ Home that year. 


A Thanksgiving Story, 


107 


It was a large company that gathered before the 
great fire on that late ITovember night. 

THE SQUIRREL ON THE ROOF.* 

An old Western pioneer governor, Henry How- 
land, sat upon the stoop of his prairie house and 
looked out on the long, level fields of yellow corn 
blazing in the sunset of the still hot but shortening 
days. His wife sat by his side, and his two sons 
laid down their books after hard study and asked 
him for a story of his old Hew England home, which 
they had never visited. 

Tell us a story of the Elms,’^ said one of the 
boys. 

Did you never hear how J ohn Howland sang 
amid the storm in the shallop of the ^ Mayflower,^ 
on that awful night before the Pilgrim Fathers 
landed ? 

“ * Amid the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard and the sea, 

And the sounding isles of the dim woods rang 
With the anthem of the free.’ 

That was our family tradition.’’ 

Tell us some incident of your own life in the 
old Pilgrim Country,” said the other boy. 

Some tame squirrels hung in a free cage under 
the roof and were turning on a revolving wire ladder. 
Mr. Howland whistled to them and they stopped. 

* Permission of “ Young People’s Weekly.” 


108 Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 

I used to do that/^ he said, on the old New Eng- 
land farm/^ 

The old New England farm on which Henry How- 
land had been born, and where he had spent his boy- 
hood, called the Elms, cr Ellums,’’ was in the Ply- 
mouth or Cape Country, and the red house of his 
youth was shaded by two majestic elms. Such trees 
were called hour-glass elms,^’ from their resem- 
blance in form to the pulpit hour glass, and the pro- 
vincial pronounciation of these in the Pilgrim 
Country was ellums,’’ or ellems.’’ Notwith- 
standing all that poets have written of the palms 
and the pines, the glory of the cedar and the strength 
of the oak, there are few trees in the world more beau- 
tiful than the elm. The monarch among New Eng- 
land woods, its sunny top towers aloft in summer 
over green groves and serried orchards, almost too 
high to cast a shadow. We cannot wonder that the 
Baltimore orioles should choose it for their pouched 
nests and should return to the same nests year after 
year, and that the squirrels should seek it for their 
little homes in the decayed knees of the limbs, or 
that the descendants of the Pilgrims should have 
planted the elm for a roof tree and made the shades 
of its sheltering arms the place for the sleep of 
their dead. The elm tree is the glory of New Eng- 
land farms and fields. The wellsweep grows mos.sy 
beside it, the birds and the squirrels haunt it and 
become a part of its household. 


A Thanhsgimng Story, 109 

Mrs-. Howland, a second wife and the mother of 
the boys, rocked gently to and fro. The sunset was 
going out and a shadow was falling on the corn. 
The squirrels in the cage had made furry bunches of 
themselves in their wire nests. 

The boys were always thrilled by tales of the 
East. 

You had a good home in old Hew England, 
Henry, and a good bringing up for that matter, and 
you have never brought reproach upon the family 
name; no Howland was ever accused of dishonor,” 
said Mrs. Howland. 

Mary, you are wrong.” 

Wrong, Henry? What Howland was ever 
accused of dishonor ? ” Her look became fixed. 

I, Mary.” 

Of what dishonor ? I would like to know.” 

Of being a thief! 

Who accused you of that, Henry ? ” 

I will tell the story for the sake of the boys, for 
it carries with it a lesson of charity, that I would 
have them learn. It concerns some little squirrels 
that used to play on the roof. The squirrels seemed 
full of fun as they whisked about — droll little crea- 
tures ; how I loved to whistle to them and stop them 
when I was a boy. My father was a good man, but 
I thought that he was a hard one, and yet I could see 
that it was a sen.se of duty that made him hard. He 
used to say, and I can seem to hear his voice now. 


110 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


^ The intentions of a father will be fulfilled in his 
sons. I have prayed that my son may come to 
honor.’ 

There lived on the place a colored woman called 
^ Black Fan/ who had sometime received a present 
of some beads attached to a gauzy lace collar. The 
thing was the one pride of her life ; it was as light as 
a web, and the beads seemed like glimmerings of 
sunlight, they were ,so very delicate. 

I went into her room one June day; the amber 
beads lay on the table. I well remember the time; 
the dormer window was open and the young leaves of 
the great elms were shining in the sun before it. 
It was a late spring day, all sunshine; the air was 
vivid, like a glory. The swallows came back to the 
chimney in spring, and the martin birds to the eaves, 
and the golden robins to their pouched nests in the 
elms. The little, half-tame squirrels were darting 
here and there along the grapevine on the roof. I 
left the room and went down-stairs. I met 
Fanny coming up, and we stopped and talked by 
the smoke chamber in the chimney. She said that 
the orioles or golden robins were building a new nest, 
and spoke of the nimble squirrels and their cunning 
ways. 

When Fanny entered the room, the amber beads 
were gone. "No one could have been there; there 
were no rat or mice holes in the place. The dis- 
appearance of the beads was a terrible shock to her. 


A Thanhsgiving Story. Ill 

She accused me of taking the amber beads and webby 
lace. I lost my temper, I stormed at her, and I 
called her an evil name. My words aroused her tem- 
per; she said, M am going to your father.’ She 
told father her story. I shall never forget what fol- 
lowed. He examined Fan’s room and then went to 
his room and prayed. I could hear him praying 
there. Oh, what a tone was in his voice ! He called 
me to him and questioned me. Then he folded his 
hands and closed his eyes, and I shall always see the 
look that he turned upon me when he opened them. 

^ My son,’ he said, ^ you are a thief, and I wish 
that you were dead ! I would have died rather than 
have lived to speak these true words. I have had 
faith that my intentions would be fulfilled in my 
children. The fruit is blasted.’ 

I can never forget how I felt at that moment. 
I was about to say, ^ F ather, I did not take the beads,’ 
whm a bitter sense of wrong arose in me. I felt 
that I had been unjustly treated. I reasoned that 
I would not reply to such an accusation; I would 
not lower myself by acting on the defensive in such 
a case. I never knew before what a reserve force 
of bitterness there was in me. The word ^ blasted ’ 
seemed to sink into my heart. Father sat silent, 
the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen 
my father weep before. My heart seemed to stand 
still and the word ^ blasted ’ to echo in my ears. 

A gentle step aproached the door. It was 


112 


JacTc^s Carrier Pigeons. 


mother’s. The door opened slowly. Mother had 
heard Black Fan’s story. Her lips quivered as she 
saw Father bending over and weeping. She set the 

muscles of her face firmly, and said ; ^ Husband, I do 
not think that Henry stole the beads. It is a mystery 
but let us not believe an evil that we cannot prove. 

Charity thinketh no evil.” ’ 

^ Mother,’ — he used the colloquial term for 
wife, — ^ justice and truth are more than any other 
things. Ho one else by any possibility could have 
done it ; I have examined the room, and weighed the 
whole case in my mind with closed eyes. I have 
used the scales of God. There was no opportunity 
for any other person to commit the theft.’ 

I went out. I heard my father sob aloud as I 
closed the door behind me. That night I slept in the 
barn. Old Fan found me there as she went hen’s- 
nesting in the morning, and cast upon me a troubled, 
reproachful look. I never spoke to the old woman 
again. She was an honest and faithful servant. I 
have often regretted my treatment of her, for as I 
see it now, she never meant me harm. The collar 
was the poor woman’s only treasure. I left the old 
farm for the West. I gained an estate; you see 
how it has been; I was made a councilor of the 
town; a member of the State legislature, and was 
elected in those rude days the first governor of the 
State. 

I never wrote to father, nor sought to recon- 


A Thanlcsgimng Story, 


113 


cile him to me. He wrote to me, but I did not an- 
swer him. That word ^ blasted ^ seemed to hinder 
me. He died. His death smote me to the heart! 
I ought to have sought a reconciliation. He meant 
well. The Scripture does not say ^ If thou hast 
aught against thy brother/ but ^ If thou remem- 
berest that he has aught against thee.’ Oh, what a 
teaching is that, and what may I not have lost in 
falling short of it! Father misunderstood me, 
and he was in the wrong, and was disappointed in 
me, but I should have sought reconciliation. I knew 
my innocence, but he could not. 

One evening as I was sitting here on the balcony, 
a shadow-like form swept up to the gate and wheeled 
a horse in front of the piazza. It was the postman. 
He handed a letter to me, and said : ^ Governor, 
they tell me that you came from the East — from the 
old Cape Country. I think that I have brought you 
a letter from home. Are any of your folks livin’ ? 
A grand night, governor. May your rest be sweet.’ 

The horseman seemed to fly away like a shadow 
in the low line of the horizon light of the moon. I 
went into the house. ^ It was a letter from home 
sure enough,’ said I to my wife. ^ It is sister 
Amanda’s writing.’ 

I read the letter in silence. Then I laid it 
down in my lap between my thumb and finger, and 
said, ^ This is a mysterious world.’ Hear this.” 

Mr. Howland then brought the letter from his 
desk to read to Mrs. Howland and the boys. 

8 


114 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons, 


Brother Henry : 

The swallows return to the same chimney, 
the martin birds to the same eaves, and even the 
golden robins to the same old nests in the elms, year 
after year, year after year, faithful and true, but, 
Henry, you do not come back. Do you love the place 
less than the birds ? Mother is growing old, and she 
sits in her chair at the western window, and talks 
of you every day. She wants to see you once more 
before she dies. This year we are intending to cele- 
brate her birthday by a Thanksgiving dinner, and 
we wish you to join us in the gathering. Henry, 
come home; it will be the last time that many of 
our family and friends who are now living will ever 
see each other. Mother was always true to you. 
Henry, come home. Mother wants you to select 
father’s gravestone. 

I have a very curious thing to write to you. Do 
not smile at it. You remember old Fan — old Black 
Fan — ^who died some years ago. She left you a 
legacy — the old barn chest in which .she used to 
store curious things. She had heard that you were 
coming home. She gave the key of the chest to 
mother, and charged her never to open the chest, 
but to give the key to you when you came East. 
Mother thought little of the charge at the time; old 
Fan left nothing of value. But of late the matter 
has come back to mother’s mind, and she sits daily at 
the western window turning poor old Fan’s key to 


A Thanksgimrig Story. 115 

the chest in her hand, and saying, ^ Something is 
haunting me. Tell Henry to come home ! ’ Henry, 
be true to a heart that was ever true to you. Come 
home. 

Faithfully always, 

Amaintda.''^ 

Mr. Howland dropped the letter into his lap 
and said : That old farm chest ! I can see it in 

my mind as plainly as I used to see it with my eyes 
when I lay on the haymow and listened to the chirp- 
ing of the swallows. It was covered with leather 
and was clamped with brass. It was six feet or more 
long and three feet high. It was brought home from 
the Spanish Main in the days of the West India 
trade.’^ 

But why was it not kept in the house ? ’’ asked 
one of the boys. 

‘‘ It belonged to Uncle John, and he died at sea 
of the cholera. I remember that mother often said 
to me, ^ You may play in the barn as chipper as the 
swallows, but donT go near the old barn chest.’ She 
used to add : ^ There is probably no danger from the 
chest, but then people can’t be too careful in this 
world ! ’ 

I can see that old barn now in my mind. I can 
see the inside of the barn. I can smell the great 
haymows, and hear the rain pattering upon the roof. 
I seem to listen to the orchard robins singing be- 


116 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


tween the showers. I seem to see the hired men 
coming and going, and old Black Fan from Guinea, 
as she came hen’s-nesting, swing a birch broom. I 
can hear the summer winds in the ^ ellums ’ ; the fall 
winds, the winter winds, and the winds of spring, 
each wind has its own voice. I can hear the birds as 
they sung the round year, the bluebird first then the 
eave swallows, and the martin birds; the red robins 
in the blooming orchards; the English robins in the 
birds in the fall, and the jays in the winter^ and 
the chickadees singing in the snow. I can seem 
to see the nimble squirrels again as they ran over the 
leamto. How they used to stop when I whistled ! ’’ 
The boys interrupted their father in his story. 

Was not old Black Fan honest?’’ asked one of 
them, wishing to solve the mysitery before his father 
should make it clear. 

Perfectly honest ; a more truthful and faith- 
ful colored woman never lived. It was all a mys- 
tery. ISTobody could understand it.” 

She had no motive in raising an evil report 
against you ? ” said his son. 

Hone whatever.” 

She had no secret antipathy against you ? ” 
^^Hone; she nursed me when I had the malig- 
nant ^ canker-rash,’ as the disease used to be called, 
at the peril of her life. She did not rest for a week 
at that time; a mother could not have done more. 
Her affection for me was sincere.” 


A Thanksgiving Storey, 


117 


Could not some one else on the day of the pilfer- 
ing have gone up into the garret chamber ? 

No; there was but one flight of stairs that led 
to the garret; the amber beads were there when I 
left the room, and Fan and I passed each other on 
the stairs/’ 

The beads with the lace might have blown from 
the room? The thing, you, say, was very light.” 

That would have been impossible, for the day 
was still; there was no wind. The treetops did not 
stir. I recall how sunny the great elms were, and 
how the English robins in them seemed to be burst- 
ing as it were with song 




The day was still.” 

Some one may have been concealed in the 
chamber, some child.” 


That was impossible. There was but one door 
and there were no secret closets there. Everything 
was open to view. Father considered all those 
things, and examined every- crevice. He tested other 
the»ories, less probable. He told me that he had 
thought such theories over on his knees, with an open 
Bible before him. He said that he felt like one 
condemned to death when it was clearly shown to 
him by reason that I had the only opportunity for 
taking away the amber beads.” 

I pity your father in such a case as well as you,” 
said the boy. 

The governor continued : Thanksgiving days 
should be forgiving days. I put those words into 


118 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


my Thanksgiving proclamation after the war, and I 
sent a copy of the proclamation to mother. They 
applied to me more than to any one else. What a 
haunted life mine has been! 

After reading the letter, my wife said to me : 
^ Let us go home to your mother, and share once 
more an old New England Thanksgiving with her. 
We must. And receive your Black Fan’s legacy 
of the old barn chest.’ 

I love the old home more and more as I grow 
older. I never hear the rain plover in the corn be- 
fore rainy weather, that I do not think of the orioles 
in the elms that spread out over the chinmney top of 
home, and the little red squirrels on the roof. I 
used to look for the coming of the birds there in the 
spring, when the wild geese were flying over in V 
forms in the new blue of the sky. I used to watch 
the orioles as they repaired their pouched nests 
and wondered at the instinct that was developed 
in an egg to do such wonderful things. I used to 
gather up the old nesits as they blew down in the 
November winds. I used to lie on summer nights 
and listen to the whir of the swallows’ wings in the 
chimney. How I used to be awakened in the morn- 
ing by the squirrels as they chased each other over 
the roof and leaped about the drain pipe. 

I must now tell you of that going home. It 
was a late November day in the Pilgrim Country. 
The season was changing. The elms had turned yel- 


A Thanksgivhig Story. 119 

low, the maples orange, and the oaks red. The pur- 
ple wild grapes lined the old stone walls ; the vine 
leaves were falling. The orchards had a juicy odor, 
apples lay in heaps under the schoolboys’ apple 
trees in the wayside. Great stacks of corn sur- 
rounded the bursting barns. We approached the 
^ Ellums.’ The lilac bushes were there yet, and the 
^ bouncing Bet.’ The handstone was there by the 
well, and the grindstone. But something seemed 
gone from all. 

I suddenly leaned from the carriage. ^ Mary, 
look there,’ said I. 

^ Where ? ’ she asked. 

^ At the west window. She used to sit at the 
east window when the children were small.’ It was 
Indian summer, and warm. The west window was 
open even at this late day of the year. 

A white head turned there toward the carriage 
rumbling down the road. As the vehicle drew up to 
the yard, the head was pushed out of the window 
under the red woodbine and there was a loud call in 
that framed picture. ^ Amanda, come quick ! ’ 

^ That is mother’s voice,’ .said I. ^ It is the 
same as it used to be, like her heart. I feel guilty 
when I think how I have neglected my old home. 
Look there ! ’ 

The front door opened. In it stood Amanda, 
gray now, and in her hand was the family dinner 
horn. 


120 Jack\^ Carrier Pigeons. 

^ Blow the horn, Amanda/ said the white-haired 
woman. M have blown it a thousiand times for 
those that are now dead, and you and he are all that 
are left to me now ! ’ 

I was welcomed back by a blast of the horn — it 
could call the living but not the dead. The driver 
took us to the open doors of the barn. My old 
mother followed the carriage on a crutch. 

She held out her thin withered hand as we 
stepped out of the wagon. I took it, and was about 
to draw her to my breast, when she said : ^ Henry, 
is there any hardness in your heart now % ’ 

“ ^ ISTone, mother, none.^ 

‘ And there never ought to have been. Ho man 
should ever come to the family table at Thanksgiving 
with any hardness in his heart. We should all seek 
reconciliations. The Master said that Thanks- 
giving days should be forgiving days — donT you 
remember that you put that into your proclamation 
after the war ? ’ 

She had in her hands a curious key. She turned 
it over and over, and seemed to play with it like a 
child. ‘ I have kept it for you, Henry,’ she said, 
referring to the key. ^ How follow me into the barn, 
and let us see what it was that old Black Fan left 
you. That mystery has haunted me. She told me 
never to open the chest until you came home, and I 
have followed her request, but have been dreaming 
of this hour for years. The old woman said that you 


A Thanksgiving Story. 121 

would come home and find in the chest something 
worth more than all the wealth of Pharaohs. 
She said that, and handed me the key, and then she 
turned her black face to the wall and died. We 
were expecting you home at the time, hut you did not 
come. There may be money there. She may have 
brought money from Guinea. She was a faithful 
soul, Henry, if she did lead you into difficulty. I 
may be superstitious, but I have never unlocked the 
chest or given up the key. I believed in you, Henry, 
at that time when the mystery happened, and I be- 
lieved in her. Charity thinketh no evil,’’ the 
good book says. Neither poor dead father (hus- 
band), nor you, nor Fanny, meant any wrong. I 
learned the lesson of charity of Christ; every one 
should. Have you, Henry % ’ 

She hobbled into the barn, and opened the door 
of the storeroom. We followed her. Her hand 
trembled on her crutch, and she stopped at every 
second step to see, as she said, if ' Henry were 
Henry.’ The swallows were gone from the eaves. 
The brook ran under the stables as of old; pigeons 
haunted the rude boxes under the point of the roof ; 
the paper-making hornets’ and wasps’ nests were 
there, and the little squirrels were still whisking 
over the roof. The storeroom was a queer place. 
Old tools were there, curious corn shellers, iron 
mongery, and discarded furniture. 

^ Stop,’ said mother, ^ and let me get my breath ; 


122 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons^ 


these sudden things flustrate me; my faculties are 
not what they used to be.’ She sank down before 
the barn chest with its dry leather and tarnished 
brass clasps. 

The old cradle was there — I saw it, and the 
family feeling blinded my eyes. She looked up to 
me mysteriously, then put the key into the rusty lock. 
The key turned hard, but she put all her last strength 
into the effort, and the bolt went back with a slow, 
rude click. She pushed up the cover. It resisted 
her, but it was raised slowly, and disclosed a vacancy. 
She raised herself up on her knees and looked into 
the chest intently. ^ What do you see in it, Henry ? 
My eyes sometimes fail me,’ she said. 

^ Nothing, mother, nothing.’ 

^ Nothing, Henry? Now that goes to my heart 
to hear you say that. I had hopes. Nothing? 
Look again.’ 

‘‘ ‘ There is nothing there but a stick of wood, an 
old elm tree elbow.’ 

^ Take it out, Henry.’ 

I took it up in my hands and said : ^ It is hol- 
low — it was once a woodpecker’s nest, such a hole 
in a tree as used to shelter the little red squirrels 
in winter where they had hidden their stores of food. 
I remember how those little squirrels used to come 
out of such holes as that on winter mornings and 
look at me, as I went whistling down to the pasture 
spring. I then had the heart of a boy.’ 


A Thanksgiving Story, 123 

I put mj hand into the hole among some wal- 
nut shells and took out of it a web that formed a part 
of a squirrel’s nest. It glimmered as I held it up to 
the light. My heart seemed to stand still. It was 
the amber beads ! ” 

Tears .stood in the pioneer governor’s eyes, and he 
added : I did wrong, boys, in not seeking to be- 

come reconciled to my father; I did not show the 
right spirit; mother did; I should have answered 
his letter. That was my opportunity. If there 
should ever arise any case of misunderstanding be- 
tween you and me, remember the story of the squir- 
rels on the roof and mother’s loving text, ^ Charity 
thinketh no evil.’ He who knows the truth should 
be very patient with him who does not, as one who 
can see with one who is blind. We should not only 
put away resentment, we should seek to correct false 
impres.^ions. Family misunderstandings hinder 
true thanksgivings.” 

Mr. Howland read that night one of the noblest 
and most beautiful lessons that ever was written in 
any literature, human or divine — 1 Cor. 13 : 

Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth 
all things. Charity never faileth,” and the boys 
took into their hearts the inward meaning of Matt. 
5 : 23, 24, with the story of The Squirrels on 
the Roof.” 


CHAPTER YIII. 


THANKSGIVING. THE FOETUS TALE. 

Jack was getting better now. 

I have, as it were, a new leg now,’’ he said to 
Father Taylor one morning. Better than that I 
have a new heart. The doctor says I may go about 
in a few days. Will you have something for me to 
do?” 

Yes. I will let you take care of the pigeon 
house.” 

The next day was Thanksgiving, and the great din- 
ner for the sailors was spread. The leading mem- 
bers of the Port Society were present, and some of 
the leading Boston philanthropists. The poet was 
there, and he had a story to tell in verse. 

HOW BOSTON BECAME A CITY OF POETS. 


I. 

There once was a schoolmaster, Suaney his name; 
In old Boston Latin school’s records of fame 
124 


Thanksgiving. 


125 


Great goggles wore he, and a half a yard cue, 

And he carried a ferule one-half an inch through. 
To guard for the school its Athenian renown. 

That the youth in the future might honor the town, 
And whenever the youth did anything lack. 

He feruled him well with a whackety-whack. 

And a whackety-whack. 

Till hot quivered his hand, and cold shivered his 
back, 

In those days of the old Boston school ! 

II. 

One morning — I think ’twas a morning in May, 

Vve the almanac lost, so I really can’t say — 

Old Sauney exclaimed, Put your grammars aside. 
And let each write a poem.” He sat down in pride 
And Horace’s gentle Poetic Art ” read. 

And each little boy touched his hand to his head 
And brought out of it rhymes. Save one boy, alack ! 
Who but one word could rhyme — it was whackety- 
whack, 

Whackety-whack, 

And from that one rhyme his thoughts turned to his 
back. 

In those days of the old Boston school! 

III. 

The pinks filled the windows with odorous air. 

And cherry bough reddened, and whitened the pear, 


126 


JaclvS Carrier Pigeons. 


And Suaney read Horace, a bluebird passed by, 

And a purple-winged swift, and a glassy-winged fly. 
Are your poems all written ? ’’ Suaney called, and 
there rose 

All the boys save that one boy, as you may suppose ! 
He only could think of the two rhymes — alack 
Of whackety-whack. 

And the answering tones that sent chills down his 
back. 

In those days of the old Boston school ! 


IV. 

One boy brought his poem to Suaney, then two, 

And three boys, and four boys. He read them all 
through, 

And his wrinkles fell out, and crowsfeet, as he 
Found the poets to number some twenty and three. 
Then he turned to the rhymeless boy, exclaiming. 
You dunce, n 

Eise, blockhead, and bring me your poem at once, 

Or a whackety-whack, and a whackety-whack 
ITl apply with this ferule, Sirrah, to your back ! 


V. 

That one boy looked up, and that one boy looked 
down. 

Sir, I am no poet,’’ — in good Boston town 
Those five words he said. The school was confounded. 


Thanksgiving, 


127 


And this, sir, in Boston ! ’’ said Suanej, astounded. 
Come here, sir, your ear, sir. 0>, never again 
Shall such a disgrace this old commonwealth stain ! ’’ 
And the ferule he plied with such force to his back. 
With a whackety-whack, and a whackety whack. 
That Twas said in the old Boston school 
That the Province House Indian ’’ turned round 
at his cries. 

And the Beacon went down from its place in the 
skies. 

And the little dogs ran, and the boys twenty-three 
All shook like the leaves on the ancient elm tree. 

And they set the date down in next year’s almanac, 
And Boston has since had of poets no lack. 

Since those days of the old Boston school ! 

A THINK AND THANK STORy/'' 

Captain Pigeon, in whose clear imagination 
There were angels hovering ’round,” was the next 
to tell a story on Thanksgiving Evening. , 

He said: 

When I was a boy on the Cape, it was a cus- 
tom of old families to play a game on Thanksgiving 
evenings, which I may call ‘ Think — and Thank ! ’ 
A log fire was made on the kitchen hearth, and a 
pile of dried sticks was laid in a corner near it — 
of drift wood from the seacoast, or of dry pine 
boughs from the hills, and each of the household 


128 


JacTc^s Carrier Pigeons. 


and their guests was expected to cast one of these 
dry faggots on the great fire, and to say something 
to make some one happy while the faggot was burn- 
ing. 

One might relate a family incident, repeat a 
verse of Scripture or of poetry, or propound a 
‘ riddle ’ while the faggot swiftly burned. Each one 
was to think, and then to say something to make 
some other one or all of the others thankful. It made 
a sacred household hour. 

There is an English book, entitled ^ Think 
and Thank,^ and it relates to the benevolences of Sir 
Moses Montefiore, who loved the Thanksgiving 
Psalms. 

I well recall that night ; the sleigh bells in the 
white road, the frost on the windows, the swallows’ 
nest that fell down into the chimney flue of the 
^ keeping room ’ after the building of an extra fire 
there. The first person who spoke on this ^ Think 
and Thank ’ meeting, which always took place before 
the candles were lighted, presented a truly pastoral 
arnaarance. He was a Quaker ninety or more years 
old. 

He selected a pine twig as his faggot, and cast 
it on the fire with a trembling hand. It blazed up 
red and crackling, and he bent on his cane and said, 
while the tick of the old eight-day clock could be 
heard in the silence: 


Thanksgiving. 


129 


‘‘ Thus far the Lord has led me on ; 

Thus far His power prolongs my days, 

And every evening shall make known 
Some fresh memorial of His grace. 

“ Much of my time has run to waste, 

And I, perhaps, am near my home ; 

But He forgives my follies past, 

And gives me strength for days to come.” 

The next speaker to ^ thank ’ after thinking 
was a unique character indeed. She was a maiden 
lady of many times the ten. She had once had an 
offer of marriage, hut this was in the forties, and she 
was a Millerite. She had told her admirer that she 
must ^ wait and see if the Avorld came to an end 
^rstf Alas! the world neither came to an end, 
nor did her suitor come back, and she was left alone 
among the withered hollyhocks of this evanescent 
world. 

She picked up a pine cone nervously, and tossed 
it into the blaze, saying: ^ There, I feel just as I 
hadn’t ought to, but I need to feel thankful that I 
am alive, I suppose.' She turned around like a top, 
and vanished on a cricket behind the settle. 

The story that I started to tell is a very simple 
one. My father was a very silent man, and I won- 
dered what he would say when his turn came to 
speak. So I crept up to his chair on my cricket 
and said in a low voice: 

^ You are thinking, ain’t you ? ’ 

^ Yes,’ said be in an undertone. 

9 


130 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 


^ What would make you the most happy ? ^ I 
continued. 

^ To see you have an education.’ 

His turn came. He took up a short twig of 
pine needles and cast it into the fire and said : ^ I 
would mortgage my farm to give my boy here an 
education.’ 

It was an unexpected declaration, but it went 
to my heart. It inspired me to struggle to receive 
an education independent of any hands , but my own. 

There are days that live again ; this day did. 
There are words that live on and on; these words 
did. I went to the city and struggled. I did not 
make money abundantly, but I could earn more 
than the old folks at home. 

Thanksgivings came and went, and each brought 
to me a voice — ^ I would mortgage my farm for 
you.’ 

One day there came to me a note from one of my 
brothers. It read: ^ Father is feeble; I hear that he 
is about to mortgage his farm. I worked hard for 
him, but my crops have failed.’ 

Then the voice came back, — ^ I would mort- 
gage my farm for you.’ It was the day before 
Thanksgiving, and I started to see the old chimney 
top amid the elms once more. It was my turn now. 

We played the old game again. I took a pine 
cone and cast it into the fire and said : ^ This is a 
sacred gathering, and while I live the old farm shall 
never pass under mortgage. Think and Thank.” ’ 


Thanksgiving. 


131 


IsTo Thanksgiving ever gave me so much plea- 
sure as that when I was able to say these homely 
words. That was my happiest Thanksgiving. I 
have seen enough of the bitterness of the world, but 
that pine cone shines like a star in memory, a thing 
of life. 

^ Think and Thank ! ’ That is a good game to 
play by household fires on Thanksgiving eves — our 
nights. I thank God for the hearths among the 
rocky 'New England hills and on the near seacoasts.’’ 

Father Taylor was the soul of generosity during 
the Thanksgiving season. He felt the tenderness of 
the memory of home then, although he scarcely had 
had a home in his early days. 

His family and friends and his biographers relate 
many incidents of his generous feelings at such 
times. 

His reckless generosity was so boundless,’’ says 
his daughter, that if it had not been for mother’s 
constant watchfulness, we should not have had bread 
to eat from day to day. Once, at the beginning of 
the year, he was sent out with a bank-note of fifty 
dollars to pay a bill, which he was to bring back re- 
ceipted. In due time he returned, but with such an 
expression of anxiety, and such an evident desire to 
escape observation, that I was convinced that he had 
been ^ naughty.’ ^ Where’s the bill, father ? ’ said 
mother. ^ Here, my dear.’ The pucker in his fore- 
head became so tremendous, that the truth flashed 


132 


Jade’s Carrier Pigeons. 


upon me at once; and I was fully prepared for 
mother^s astonished cry of ^ It isn’t receipted. 
Father, you've given away the money.' I held him 
so tightly that he couldn’t run; so at last he stam- 
mered, ^ Well, wife, just ’round the corner I met a 
poor brother, a superannuated brother, and — and ’ — 
with a tone of conviction calculated to prove to us 
all the utter impropriety of his doing anything else, 
^ and, of course, my dear, I couldn't ash him to 
change it ! ' " 

Another amusing example of his impulsive bene- 
volence,” says a biographer, was sho^vn on a New 
Year’s eve. After the good old fashion, he, with his 
congregation, had seen the Old Tear out and the 
New Year in ; and then, at half-past twelve, he was, 
according to another pleasant fashion of his house- 
hold, sitting down to enjoy a bountiful supply of 
fricasseed chicken. Just then a neighbor called, 
and whispered that Brother Cooper, who had taken a 
prominent part in the meeting, was in actual want of 
food, having had nothing for himself or his family 
since breakfast. Father Taylor seized a Hordly 
dish ’ before him. ^ Take it, — quick ; don’t stop for 
complimentsi — run. Lord bless Brother Cooper, 
and all Thy saints, and feed all the hungry, now and 
evermore.’ And then the company sat down to a 
frugal repast, and found it better than a stalled ox.” 

Such was the spirit of the holidays at the Marin- 
ers’ Home ; this year. Holiday Home. 


CHAPTEK IX. 


THINK AND THANk/"' HOW THE MEECHANT 

FOUND HIS HEALTH AGAIN. 

They followed the suggestion of Think and 
Thank ’’ in the story-telling, in the use of faggots. 

There was a merchant present from Xew York 
on this Thanksgiving Night. He threw a faggot 
on the great fire and said: 

I have a story that I would like to tell : 

A FAR WEST THANKSGIVING. 

A middle-aged man sat in a counting-room in 
New York, near Castle Garden, looking out on the 
bright water of the harbor, over which the endless 
procession of ships was going out to, or coming in 
from, the ocean. He was associated with one of the 
great lines of steamers that have their offices around 
Castle Garden. He had come to New York from a 
New England home, whose orchards, meadows, woods 
and brooks still haunted his memory. He had be- 
come a commercial agent. By investments of small 

t33 


134 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


savings he had secured a comfortable property, but 
his health had failed. 

He had a brother who had gone to Dakota Ter- 
ritory, an immense waste of bad lands and hostile 
Indians. There, where the plains were covered witli 
horns of buffalo and wild cattle, he had helped 
to found a town of hardy pioneers, and had died 
there, leaving a widow and two boys. He had helped 
his brother from time to time, and the sympathy had 
won the gratitude of his brother’s widow, whom he 
had never seen. A letter from this poor widow lay 
before him. 

^ I have been praying for a cow,’ she wrote, ^ and 
to-day a Christian neighbor who has a large herd of 
cattle has offered to lend me a lame cow for the sea- 
son. She is a healthy animal, for her lameness was 
caused by accident, and does not injure her milk. 
My neighbor said, That is just the animal a woman 
ought to have. The rest of the cattle hook her about 
when I let her run with them.” This may seem a 
light incident to you, but it is not to me. I believe 
in prayer. I believe that there are realms of prayer, 
and that we dwell in them ; that they are a part of 
the Kingdom of God. I have had a hard life in 
Dakota, but I have not lost my faith in God: to 
know God is eternal life. I have passed from death 
unto life. This consciousness is always with me.’ 

The merchant held the letter in his hand and 
thought. 


Think and Thank P 


135 


^ The consciousness of eternal life/ he said, 
^ What would be all the estates of New York to a 
consciousness like that ! ’ 

lie thought of the saintly old country minister 
whom he used to hear preach when he was a boy, and 
he repeated one of the good man^s favorite texts : ^ If 
any man keep my sayings he shall never see death.’ 

Bright, happy faces were passing in the street, 
and among the carriages a white hearse in which 
was a coffin half buried in flowers. He struck the 
letter on his knee. ^ Only a divine man could have 
said that/ he said. 

He repeated another text that came to his mem- 
ory and started ; the text was : ^ I have power to lay 
down my life, and to take it up again.’ 

^ Plato could not have said that,’ he said. ^ Nor 
Buddha, nor Mohammed, nor Plotinus. I wish I 
had this sense of eternal life that my brother’s 
widow has. Suppose I were to gain Fifth Avenue, 
and lose my health ? What is wanted to happiness 
is continuance, I am not happy — she is.’ 

Happy ? Under what circumstances was this 
Dakota widow happy ? This was about to be re- 
vealed to him. 

He turned to the letter and read on : 

^ I came to Dakota because I was left alone in 
the world, and wished to have a home of my own. 
I took up a claim, and worked as a servant in the 
family of the man who kept the village store and 


136 


Jach'^s Carrier Pigeons, 


post-office. I broke my claim with my own hands, 
and I went to it every week in open weather, though 
it was miles away. I hired a farmer to break up 
ten acres for me. Then I took an axe and cut me 
a sod house, and planted a crop with my own hands. 
So I worked as a servant a part of the time in the 
town, and cultivated my claim in the summer. I 
earned the money to build a house. This house was 
better than a dug-out, but it was only ten by twelve 
feet, with one window and with only hardened earth 
for a floor. I had a bunk for a bed, and used a shoe- 
box for a cupboard, and made my furniturue out of 
boxes from the store. I secured a stove, which 
seemed to me a luxury. 

^ The town in which I worked grew. It came to 
have a hotel, a printing office, and a blacksmith shop. 
The people were prosperous and happy. It delighted 
them to see the country growing. One day the sky 
turned black. The earth was still, and seemed to 
pant and shudder. The black mass began to move, 
and to smite the earth as in a sudden fury. It is 
coming, said the old Dakota people, and they fled 
to their cellars. 

^ The cyclone raised the buildings from their 
foundations, and left them wrecks. It buried the 
crops in its fury, plowing the .earth as it went on, 
with lightning, rain and hail. It destroyed my 
house and garden. It left the town without re- 
sources. Worse than all, it blighted the hopes of the 
new people, and they went away empty-handed. 


“ Think and Thank: 


137 


^ I hid under my bunk in the black storm. The 
sun came out, blazing, and when I dared to leave my 
retreat, I knew not where my roof had gone. I 
stood alone in the world. But life was left. As 
long as one has life, one has resources. I resolved 
not to leave the country. 

^ 'New people came to the shattered town. Your 
brother came for his health ; he found health in the 
■vital air, and I married him. Other storms came, 
but we had health, and faith, and honor, and we 
resolved to stand by the country, and to study how 
to overcome its disadvantages. This country, with 
its fertilized soil and its health-giving air, will one 
day be a garden of the world. I am glad that I 
stayed here. It made my faith grow. I have godly 
children; my experience helps them to be strong in 
character and in soul.’ 

The merchant saw her view point. His lip 
quivered, and he read on : 

^ You have been out of health, you write me, and 
your condition has troubled me. I have prayed for 
you twice a day, and my boys have joined with me. 
I think that your health will be better, and that your 
life will be prolonged in answer to our prayers. I 
feel strong of faith. All I can do is to pray for you.’ 

The agent dropped the letter on his desk, and 
thought of the faith that was illustrated in the simple 
story. His heart smote him. 

^ Think of it,’ he said to an intimate friend. 


188 


JacKs Carrier Pigeons, 


‘ Here am I living in luxury, and my brother’s wid- 
ow in the treeless wheat-lands of Dakota praying for 
a cow. And she is grateful to secure the loan of a 
lame one ! And she and her boys pray for me in a 
Dakota cabin, where summers are hot, and the 
winters long and cold, and where destitution comes if 
the wheat crop fails. All that she can do,” as she 
says, is to pray for me.” Well, as God holds the gift 
of all things, and if prayers are answered, what 
could one do more ? A Christian neighbor lent her 
a lame cow. I will send her a check for three good 
cows, since I ought to follow such a good suggestion, 
— one cow for her and one for each of the boys. I 
wish I had that woman’s consciousness of God. I 
would then have something that would last.’ 

He took his check book, and wrote out a check 
for three hundred dollars. Then he sat thinking 
again. 

^ My old mother used to pray about her work,’ 
he said. ^ She sung prayers. Ho scene in my life 
can equal that picture in my mind. How peaceful 
it all was! — the robins singing in the elms and 
orchards, and the bobolinks in the clover meadows, 
and mother at work singing, too — the dear old hymns 
I can seem to hear now. 

“ ‘ A charge to keep I have, 

A God to glorify, 

A never-dying soul to save 
And fit it for the sky.’ 


“ Thhih and Thank: 


139 


His mind wandered for a half-hour from the old 
rocky Hew England farm to the wide, burning plains 
of Dakota. 

The days went — the weeks — ^years. Health re- 
turned to the agent, and he prospered. One by one 
his own family died. He had many cares. He did 
not think often of the cabin home of his brother’s 
family in the far West. There were times when 
his heart was very lonely; wealth did not feed the 
hunger of his heart. 

But he lived in) the thick and rush of life, and 
his health was prostrated again. He became a vic- 
tim of nervous depression. He wrote to the widow 
of his changed condition. One day his physician 
said to him: 

^ If only you had some relatives now who culti- 
vate the sunny plains of Dakota, where the air is dry 
and pure and vital, and could go to them and live on 
horseback days, and be tenderly cared for in your 
hours of rest, I think that you would speedily re- 
cover.’ 

‘ I have such relatives,’ he said. ^ But they are 
very poor. I bought them some cows ten years ago. 
I haven’t heard from them often of late. I will go 
to Dakota and visit them, and if I do not find them 
too poor for any comfort, I will try horseback riding 
on the plains.’ 

^ You need not only exercise and rest from brain 
work,’ said the doctor, ^ but more. Your heart is 
starved; you need sympathy.’ 


140 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


^ It may be that I will find it in Dakota. I 
have two nephews there. Sympathy — heaven knows 
how often I have longed of late for that ! I am alone 
in the world among the poor who have nothing but 
riches.’’ I will go to the widow’s cabin, and see 
what she can do for me. Doctor, sympathy is not all 
that I need. Yon may smile, bnt my soul needs 
faith — wealth gives us not a dollar that we can keep. 
Yes, I do need vital air and sympathy, and I need 
faith, for my body and soul are starved. I’ll spend 
my Thanksgiving there, and give the widow a good 
old Hew England dinner.’ 

He went to Dakota. He thought much of the 
widow on the way. He was accustomed to talk to 
himself ^ for want of better company,’ as he said, 
and to drum with his fingers while in monologue. 

^ She was a strong woman,’ he said, on his way, 
drumming on the top of the back of the car-seat be- 
fore him, ^ to stay in that cold country, where the 
wind moves roofs from one county to another. She 
stood by the country, too; a Pilgrim Mother could 
not have done more than that.’ 

He dreamed. 

^ I declare, I’ll make her a present of a hundred 
dollars. She ought to have it. I ought to have 
sent her that amount before.’ 

He drummed. 

^ And she brought up the boys in that lonely 
country — and never asked me for help. I’ll give 


‘‘ Think and ThanhT 


141 


each of the boys a hundred dollars as a Thanksgiving 
present. That is three hundred dollars.’ 

He opened his great wallet and put into a fold of 
it three one hundred dollar bills. 

^ And she has faith, and the consciousness of a 
higher life, and prays for me.’ 

He drummed. 

^ For me — in my selfishness. I haven’t lived 
rightly — I live for what I can get out of life — she for 
the soul. How I haven’t treated that woman right, 
nor her boys. I declare, I’ll leave the widow a 
check for a thousand dollars. I’ll put it under her 
Thanksgiving dinner plate. They used to do such 
things in the old Hew England days at Thanksgiving. 
They paid their debts in that way sometimes.’ 

He drummed. 

^ She used to pray for my health. It may be 
that she is praying for my soul now — I rather feel 
so. Well, my soul needs prayers — to-morrow where 
may I be ? ’ 

He left Sioux City for a far, far ride to the 
widow’s home. 

The cars stopped at the station nearest the farm- 
ing country where she lived. He stepped upon the 
platform. 

A manly boy touched him on the arm. 

^ Uncle, my team is here.’ 

His team ? 

A heavy carriage, with two splendid horses, 


142 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons. 


stood by the platform, and in it was another manly 
boy. The two boys were well dressed. The mer* 
chant saw at a glance that they were gentlemen. 

His whole life seemed to change. The New York 
Club looked cheap to him now. He saw that life 
was to make men. He wished that he had done more 
to make these boys men. 

^ I have come to spend Thanksgiving with you/ 
said he, ^ in memory of old New England.’ 

He was driven to the ranche wondering. 

The wonder grew. The widow’s home was not 
a cabin now — it Avas a farm-house, shaded by Lom- 
bardy poplars and cottoiiAvood trees. 

The boys talked rapidly. ^ Where that barn 
stands is Avhere the shed Avas that mother made for 
the lame coav,’ said one. 

‘ We have more than fifty coavs now.’ 

^ We have some cf the finest horses in the coun- 

try.’ 

^ We are getting to be almost men. Don’t you 
think so ? ’ 

^ And Ave OAve all to you, uncle.’ 

The widoAV received him Avith an overfloAving 
heart, so glad was she to welcome the one who had 
done so much for them. 

On the days fleAV like magic. The vital air 
brought back health. The sympathy and love given 
returned to him the happiness of youth. 

One day he heard the AvidoAV singing a hymn 
that his old mother had sung : 


“ ThinJc and ThanTcd^ 


143 


“ * In hope of that immortal crown 
I now the cross sustain.* 

It was like Iiis mother’s voice. 

^ You are rich in faith/ he said. 

‘ I have been praying for years that God would 
give you spiritual light. I am praying still/ she 
answered. 

^ And I am praying/ he said brokenly. ^ I have 
made my prayer unceasing unto God since the day I 
came to you. And — He is hearing our prayers. God 
has led me here that I might see with clearer vision, 
and I see now, as never before, a loving God. He 
shall be my God.’ 

His sister grasped his hand, tears running down 
her face. 

^ I brought you a thousand dollars for a present, 
so that we may have a good old Hew England 
Thanksgiving in memory of mother, who sleeps 
under the elms by the ocean,’ he said. ^ But I will 
give to God that which is not money — my life. If 
He sees best to spare it — my service. Ah, how brac- 
ing is this air ! I came for a Hew England Thanks- 
giving. I already feel a thanksgiving in my soul — 
a Dakota Thanksgiving ! ’ 

The merchant was myself. I recovered my 
health on the plains of that vast wild territory. Do 
you see the point of my story ? ” 


OHAPTEE X 


THE KINDERGARTEN WOMAN COMES TO SEE JACK. 

KINDERGARTEN : THE STORY OF THE EONEEI- 

EST MAN IN THE WORLD."'^ 

Jack was still lame. There were little Jewish 
children in the neighborhood. 

He had to lie much alone under the whirring 
wings of the pigeon house. He looked out of the 
window, and saw the Jewish children pass. They 
seemed to have no school. 

One day in these benevolent times a lovely faced 
woman came to see him. Some call her Saint 
Elizabeth now. She was a friend of Frau Su- 
sanne, and was then known as the hindergarten 
woman. We must introduce you to her.. 

There was born at Bellerica, Mass., May 16th, 
1804, a lady who lived a simple life, but whose 
influence has tilled the country with noble sugges- 
tions, and has extended to the Argentine Eepublic 
and the lands of the Andes. She saw that what 
America needed to make rounded men was moral 
education and a right training of conscience in the 
child’s earlier years. Like Pestalozzi, she was led to 
144 


‘‘ The Loneliest Man in the World, 


145 


the view that memory education was merely instruc- 
tion, and that true education comprehended the 
heart, the conscience and the imagination. A child 
must first be educated to feel rightly, and to love to 
do right for the sake of right. He must be made 
acquainted with the things that favorably affect his 
imagination, since life is so largely colored by the 
imagination and governed by it. She studied kin- 
dergarten education as it had developed in Germany, 
Switzerland, Belgium and Italy, and she loved 
stories that had souls, and that were parables of true 
life. 

Her early life was passed in Salem. She then 
became a teacher in Boston. Her sister Sophia mar- 
ried Hathaniel Hawthorne, the novelist, and an- 
other sister, Mary, became the wife of Horace 
Mann, the educator and apsotle of Hormal Sshools. 
This wonderful woman wa^s Elizabeth Palmer Pea- 
body. 

Miss Peabody at this period we may suppose to be 
intensely interested in her kindergarten theories, as 
indeed she thought and wrote of but little else for 
many years. When she began her kindergarten 
work in this country in Cambridge, Mass., one of her 
first subscribers to the new school that should seek 
to educate the heart and conscience and imagination 
before the memory was the good poet Longfellow 
who may have seen the influences of this education 
in Germany. 

10 


146 Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 

Elizabeth, full of the ideas of an education that 
makes men, homes, and happiness, heard at the 
Home that there was a sick boy upstairs ’’ and that 
he was a wanderer from somewhere, and was all 
alone in the world. How such a story as that went 
direct to the gentle woman’s heart. She made 
further inquiries at the Home. 

He am up under the cock-loft,” said a sailor, 
’cause you see there was no bed for him in the 
chambers. I seen him this morning. There was a 
pigeon looking into the window. He was ruffled.” 

Miss Peabody’s lively imagination was excited. 
A sick boy from some unknown port of the world, in 
the cock-loft, and a pigeon looking into the windo at 
him! And he was ruffled — was it the pigeon that 
was ruffled, or the sick boy? She must go and see 
what it meant. 

Can I go up ? ” she asked of the sailor. 

And where is it, mum, that you would go ? Hot 
all the way up? Hot to the place that Eather Tay- 
lor preaches about ? ” 

Ho, no, not so far as that, but only up to the 
cock-loft where the sick boy is.” 

There can be no objection to your going that far, 
mum, or farther yet if your heart is all right.” 

Then I will go up to see Jack. I wonder if the 
pigeon is still looking into the window.” 

She went up ” and up,” and found the room 
under the cock-loft at last. She rapped at the door. 


“ The Loneliest Man in the World?^ 147 

Come in/’ said a voice with a gladness of wel- 
come in it. 

She opened the door. Jack, or ^^Jammie, me 
b’y/’ lay on a cot, bolstered up by husk pillows. 

I am one of the visitors, my young friend. I 
heard that you were laid by, and my heart turned to- 
wards you. I am Mrs. Mann’s sister. You have 
heard of Mr. Mann.” 

She turned towards the window. There sat a 
pigeon ruffled. So the good woman saw that it was 
not Jack who was ruffled, but the pigeon. She was 
glad of that. 

That is an odd looking bird in the window,” said 

she. 

Yes, good woman, he does not seem to be one of 
the flock. He has a red ring around his eyes, such 
as the carrier pigeon had.” 

What carrier pigeon, my boy ? ” 

Sit down, my friend,” said Jack, and I will 
tell you. It is good that you are to come up to see 
me, a poor wayfarer. I will tell you, if you have 
the time to listen, of a pigeon with a wounded wing, 
that came here, some days ago. The bone of the 
wing was out of joint, and the doctor set it, and I 
fed her, and then let her go.” 

That may be the mate,” said Sister Elizabeth, 
for so I will call her, for she had become a sister to 
all who were in want or in need. I will open the 
window.” 


148 


JacKs Carrier Pigeons, 


She went to the window, raised the sash gently, 
and the pigeon drifted into the room and dropped 
down on the floor. Then he flew up on the table, 
where a part of Jack’s dinner remained, and be^an 
to eat some Indian pudding. 

That bird is looking for his mate,” said Jack. 

If that be so,” said Sister Elizabeth, think 
what a heart he must have. What put it there? 
There is one thing of which we can give no account 
— it is the instincts. They came out of a world before 
this.” 

There was heard a step on the stairs. A man’s 
white head appeared at the door — it was Father 
Taylor’s. 

I knew I would And you here, Elizabeth. Your 
heart would draw you right up here, naturally, after 
you had heard of Jack and the pigeons. So you have 
let the new pigeon in, J ack. He looks like the other 
one. It may be he is the other one’s mate. Tame, 
isn’t he? He came from some good family — they 
are good hearts that make birds tame, isn’t that so, 
Elizabeth ? What is this I hear — that you are going 
to open a school for birds ? ” 

Ho, no, but I have no objections to the birds 
coming to my school after the manner that this one 
makes a visit. Ho, I am about opening a kinder- 
garten school in Boston, like the one in Cambridge, 
if I can get the means. I should be glad to have a 
pigeon like this among my teachers. We need the 


“ The Loneliest Man in the World: 


149 


friendshij^s of little birds and animals as much 
as they need ours/^ 

Father Taylor sat down at the foot of the bed, and 
the pigeon ruffled his feathers again, and perched on 
the rim of the sugar bowl. 

Sister Elizabeth was a wonderful talker, and she 
had an audience that inspired her now up in the 
cock-loft; Father Taylor, Jack and the pigeon from 
the unknown world. 

Father Taylor, you may smile at my theories — 
but we must have a new education for children in 
this country to make a new generation of men. 
There are three sides of life — the human, the divine, 
and the business, and the business side of life is 
crowding out the human and divine, and we are 
tending toward what is selfish at the cost of all that 
is worth knowing or having. They only live who live 
for the soul, and the true happiness comes from 
things that money cannot buy. 

You are doing a great work for the seafaring 
people. A generation will bless you — your infiuence 
goes out into all the world. IsTow you listen, and 
Jack. The pigeon is listening — he has no need to 
listen, he has the instinct of his work within him. 

I wish to help to establish a new kind of educa- 
tion in this country — one that will make a man 
obey his conscience. Did you ever read Kant ? 

Father Taylor shook his head. 

Did you ever read Leibnitz on Innate Ideas ? ” 


JacThS Carrier Pigeons. 


150 

Father Taylor had never studied the great phih 
osopher of monadology. 

No, Sister Elizabeth. I only need one lesson 
in philosophy — Christ gave it to the world — it is — 
^ This is eternal life to know God.’ If I wanted 
more light I would take St. Paul’s — ^ He that is 
spiritual judgeth all things and no man judgeth 
him.’ ” 

You are right, Father Taylor, you are right, but 
Leibnitz shows how these things are so. He is 
sublime.” 

Not more sublime than He who said — ^ If any 
man keep my saying he shall never see death/ 

Father Taylor’s face began to glow. He held out 
his finger to the pigeon and the bird perched upon it. 

You say that that pigeon came from a good 
family because kindness to animals is an evidence of 
superior character.” 

Yes, Sister Elizabeth.” 

She rose up and began to talk like an inspired 
woman. 

I have insights. Father Taylor. That bird has 
instincts. I have insights. I would have kindness 
to animals and all things that creep and fly taught 
by animals and birds in the schools. 

I would have all pigeons as tame as that pigeon 
because the hearts of all children should be taught 
to be as kind as the unknown owners of this bird are.” 

She stood there in the light of the winter window 
expounding her views and illustrating them. 


‘‘ The Loneliest Man in the WorldT 151 

Said she as we may fancy: 

It was a principle of Froebel, the founder of 
kindergartens, that little children should be led to 
see the brotherhood of the animal kingdom, after the 
manner of the ^ Bird^’s I^est Commandment’ in the 
Old Testament Scri]3tures, and in the spirit of the 
ancient Lawgiver’s words, ^ Thou shalt not muzzle 
the ox that treadeth out the corn.’ Tame birds and 
animals, not in cages, became a part of the life of the 
early kindergarten schools. Such association of 
children with little birds and animals has been con- 
tinued in many such schools, and now in the 
revival of kindergarten in our own country, the 
Froebel principle in the spirit of the Bird’s Nest 
Commandment should receive the full attention, 
due to the German schoolmaster’s system of the cul- 
ture of the heart. 

Do you know. Jack, what the Bird’s Hest Com- 
mandment is ? Let me quote it here ; it merits a 
place among the mottoes of every kindergarten school 
and Sunday-school, as well as in the schools where 
Bands of Mercy have been formed: 

^ If a bird’s nest chance to be before thee in the 
way in any tree, or on the ground, whether they be 
young ones or eggs, and the dam sitting upon the 
young, or upon the eggs, thou shalt not take the 
dam with the young’ (Dent. 22 : 6). 

This commandment related to birds and eggs 
that were to be taken for food, and implied that there 


152 Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 

should he no destruction of life beyond the need. 
In the same chapter is a like humane injunction: 

^ Thou shalt not see thy brother’s ox or ass fall 
down by the way^ and hide thyself from them : thou 
shalt surely help him to lift them up again.’ 

The Hebrew nation did not disturb the swallows 
which built their nests in its tents. Beautiful opens 
the psalm of the Feast of the Tabernacle: 

^ The sparrow hath found a house, and the swal- 
low a nest for herself where she may lay her young, 
even thine altars, O Lord of hosts ’ ” (Psalm 84). 

She turned to Father Taylor. 

It is a part of the kindergarten system to make 
the heart of the child tender and quick to respond 
to the cry of an animal in distress. 

The association of domestic birds and animals 
with kindergarten children is not only desirable un- 
der the common rule of kindness, but for the purpose 
of showing the young how to be kind and how best 
to treat the animal wprld. The study of the animal 
nature is one of the most wonderful and sympathetic 
of the lessons of life. 

Kindergarten schools for friendless children 
will one day fill our cities, and one reason why this 
feature of the Froebel method should be fully de- 
veloped in them is that many of the pupils who come 
into these missions live among brutalizing scenes 
and influences. To such the care of a wounded 
bird or the protection of a homeless animal wouhl 


The Loneliest Man in the World, 


153 


afford a lesson of help that would extend into the 
home. ^ I recently saw/ said a philanthropist, ^ a 
pigeon gathering food for his young among the chil- 
dren of a village school. His nest was in the 
room, and the mother-bird was hovering over her 
young. The pigeons had made their nest there, and 
the children had protected them and fed them. The 
birds had become a part of the daily life of the school. 
These children would be likely to protect birds for 
life, and the habits so formed would not only make 
them more humane, but more tender in every rela- 
tion of home and society.’ 

The poets have written much that could be used 
in schools. Burns’ ^ To a Field Mouse,’ if 
recited in connection with the telling of the story of 
how the bard-peasant plowed out the trembling little 
creature ; Sir Walter Scott’s ^ Helvellyn,’ or the story 
of the dog that watched for months all alone over the 
dead form of his master ; Wordsworth’s ^ Pet Lamb,' 
and Campbell’s ^ The Parrot of Mulla,’ are a few 
among many poems associated with incidents that 
charm the child. 

The influence of the association of children with 
domestic animals may be seen everywhere in Bel- 
gium. Three dogs there are equal to one pony, and 
the dogs do much of the work of the family. They 
carry the milk and the vegetables to market, the 
women and children to ride. Thev are treated kind- 
ly, are seldom struck with a whip, and they come to 


154 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


understand the language of the farm and garden, 
and learn to obey not a few words unly, but many 
directions. The children treat them as part of the 
household, and reward them for willing work, which 
makes them happy. 

To see these little animals, on mark3t days in 
Antwerp, at rest under their carts after the produce 
has been sold, or startin. ; for home with their empty 
little wagons, to study at such a time their joy, alert- 
ness and intelligence, is to learn what humane habits 
may develop in the animal world. Belgium is seek- 
ing to become a neutralized country, — that is, she 
would make treaties not to wage war with the powers 
of Europe ; her treatment of the insane, and of home- 
less and friendless invalids, and of unfortunate chil- 
dren, is most merciful and sympathetic. May not 
the common people^s love for their domestic animals 
ha';^ had something to do in producing these results ? 

It Avas Froebel’s thought to teach children by 
observation or sense-impression more than from 
books. The daily question of ^ What have you 
learned to-day from the pigeon, the SAvalloAV, the dog, 
cat, rabbit ? Ms a character-building method of long 
influence, in the primary school, and especially in 
those schools Avhere the pupils come largely from 
unhappy homes. 

IToav can little birds and animals best be intro- 
duced into the schools ? Not by cages ; a cage is a 
prison. Feed doves at the AvindoAV sills, until they 


‘‘ The Loneliest Man in the WorldT 


155 


make their own free visits; have a dovecote at the 
window; set swallow-houses and other bird-houses 
about the windows; protect in the places of shelter 
exposed nests; take into the yard injured animals 
and restore them, and feel the joy of their gratitude; 
share the happiness of animals made so by care for 
their wants; the care of an injured bird or animal 
in such a school is one of the noblest lessons of life ; 
it cultivates all of the sympathetic faculties/’ 

J ack grew steadily better now. He had caught the 
kindergarten spirit, and he thought much of the 
Jewish children, of whom few American people 
seemed to think at all. Would they not attend a non- 
sectarian school, or would not some of them do so ? 
A Jew’s heart is quick to respond to love. 

He had a long talk with Frau Susanne. She 
promised to instruct him, and offered him the 
use of her rooms for a kindergarten Sunday-school. 
Jack’s soul kindled at the thought of doing good in 
this way. He was a happy boy. 

Frau Susanne prepared her rooms for the kinder- 
garten. She hung up some mottoes about the room 
and set a large blackboard for Jack between the win- 
dows. She gave Jack Froebel’s Education of 
Man ” to read, which book he came to study with 
great avidity, and to esteem as next to the Bible and 
hymn-book. 

Among the mottoes which Frau Susanne hung 
about the room were these : 


156 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


Seek first ’’ 

Never do anything unnecessary that will cause 
another pain/^ 

Be what thou oughtest to be, else thou shalt be 
nothing.’’ 

‘‘ Never do anything that you would not have an- 
other do to you.” 

What thou doest to help thy enemy will help his 
soul and thine.” ^ 

There was one motto that caught Jack’s eye at 
once and went to his quick conscience. It was: 

Be to every one what he lacks or most needs, so 
shalt thou make thyself perfect.” 

That means that I should be eyes to Hugh 
Ainsley,” said Jack; ^Mie’s blind. I must have a 
gift faculty class; a class that seeks to make up to 
the unfortunate what they lack. The work must be 
specialized, as Father Taylor might say. Those 
who have stout limbs must bring the rickety to 
the school.” 

Many children had the rickets in these times. 

When the school had met a few times to study 
what Christ had taught in regard to the Kingdom of 
God, Jack proposed his plan of specialized work; 
that each scholar should think of some one who 
lacked what he had been given, and should seek to 
supply the want; as, for example, the stout and 
strong should seek the paralyzed. 

When Miss Peabody, the St. Elizabeth, who was 


The Loneliest Man in the World T 


157 


preaching and teaching kindergarten in the spirit 
of charity that kept her poor, and who visited 
Switzerland to study the beneficent system in the 
same spirit, heard from Frau Susanne what Jack 
was doing, she approved of it fully. 

That is heart education,’’ she argued. That 
is the kind of education that will make civilization; 
that is what all the world needs. I wish I were go- 
ing to live to be a thousand years old; ’tis not so 
much theology, as the sermon on the Mount of Beati- 
tudes that the world must have. The blind, feeble- 
minded, deformed and Tke people, do not need you 
more than you need them.” 

One day a lame dog came to the school and howled 
at the door. 

J ack heard and went to the door, and led him in, 
and the scholars were all so kind to the poor crea- 
ture, that the light of gratitude shone out of his 
eyes. 

Jack saw this light. 

It’s like a diamond in a broken rock,” said he. 

I wish I could preach like Father Taylor. I 
would have a pulpit under the pigeon house, too; 
but that is not for me. I must do seme ^ specialized 
work.’ I wonder what it will be — I don’t know, 
but I can give my life in my life somehow. God 
may have it — what matters it as long as I am in the 
Kingdom ? This school belongs to the Kingdom. 
I wish I could go about beginning such schools as 


168 


Jac/v^ Carrier Pigeons, 


this, as Miss Peabody is doing with her day schools. 
I love everybody; I long to live for everybody, and 
whatever may happen to me, I will always be in the 
Kingdom.’’ 

They opened the school in a touching way, by 
singing — 

My brother I wish you well.” 

Then they would continue the refrain by — 

My teacher, I wish you well,” and sometimes 
by Father Taylor, I wish you well.”. 

One day they sang — 

Brother Jack, I wish you well,” and Jack’s lips 
began to tremble, and he turned his face to the black- 
board, and the tears streamed down his cheeks as 
though he were still a child. 

The school would sing to some lovely chant music 
written, I think, by Dr. Boot, the words beginning — 

“ Jesus in the temple with the doctors wise ” — 

words like these, which were followed by Kew 
Testament texts beginning with the word Blessed,” 

“ Jesus with the people, ever loved to be, 

On the shady mountain, by the shining sea. 

When the people sought him, from the toiling day, 
Jesus with the people, what did Jesus say ? ” 

Jack was happy, but he began to see that his 
specialized work should be with the sailors on the 


sea. 


‘‘ The Loneliest Man in the Worlds 159 

I must go where I can do the most good/’ he said. 
Else I would not be all I can, and that is little.” 
He would listen to the winter storms, and he once 
said : 

I think I can hear God’s voice calling me in the 
storms.” 

He loved to sing with the school an hymn that 
Erau Susanne had taught the children: 

“ When through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming,” 

and another hymn which is almost as old as the 
Christian Church: 

“ Fierce was the wild billow, 

Dark was the night.” 


Everybody loved Jack. 

St. Elizabeth’s kindergarten ideas which she 
preached everywhere, and about which she was 
writing books, were living seeds. A good woman 
would take them up one day, and devote $20,000 
a year to them; then the Boston School Committee 
would enlarge the work; then the churches, and 
Boston would become a kindergarten city as it now is. 

Jack’s plan for his Sunday-school under Frau 
Susanne’s advice and influence grew and multi- 
plied. Let us present an outline of this parable 
teaching which followed the example furnished in 
the Gospels. 


160 Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 

I. 

The Child Christ's Return from Egypt to Oalilee, 

In Jewish families it was the custom to relate 
the Old Testament stories to children of five years. 
Frau Susanne related to Jack the stories of Joseph 
and the Exodus, which the parents of the child 
Jesus must have told him at this age. He made a 
series of lessons of them. 


II. 

The Parables of Christ retold as stories. 

The children were to be instructed in the parables, 

III. 

The stories of the doves of the Bible with all of 
the passages of Scripture that refer to the Holy 
Spirit. 

IV. 

A board picture of three empty crosses in the 
sunset, with a recitation by all of Matthew’s account 
of the crucifixion. 

V. 

A recitation of all the passages of Scripture begin- 
with the word Blessed,” with a board picture 
of a tree planted by rivers of water,” etc. 

When Father Taylor spoke to the children on 


The Loneliest Man in the V^^orldP 161 

these topics he seemed to make the teachings of 
Christ live again. His stories added parables to 
parables. They were better than those in many 
books. They made truth clear, and were long re- 
membered. All schools need a natural story-teller, 
now as in Hebrew times. A story needs the voice. 

Jack began to take an interest in little Jewish 
children, because he thought them the most neglect- 
ed of all people. 

Christmas was at hand. 

People with theories came to the Mariners’ Home, 
and the Holiday Home ” stories illustrated to them 
the influence of the story as character education. 

Stories,” said the poet, are suggestions ; they 
change conduct through the heart and conscience ; 
they live. I would have schools begin in story tell- 
ing, or would have story-telling schools.'" 

In Germany,” said one of the visitors, all 
children go through fairyland, and so cultivate the 
imagination at the susceptible time of life. Many 
Hew England people seem to regard the telling of 
fairy stories as frivolous and wrong. But such 
people, as a rule, tell ghost stories, and stories of 
the killing ot Indians and animals in a very brutal 
way.” 

A large number of people had gathered after a 
church service around the Are, and the poet dis- 
coursed to them on the educational influence of story- 
telling. 

11 


162 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


‘‘ I would have a course of story-telling in every 
school/’ he said, that would teach — ^ That to live 
for the soul is best ’ ; ^ That happiness conies from 
the service of others ’ / That happiness comes from 
things that money cannot buy ; ^ That the infinity of 
the soul is the evidence of its immortality.’ I would 
have such stories told as make self-control the crown- 
ing virtue of life. All that is noble lies in the 
soul. The Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan 
are the great parables of the world.” 

If I had the means,” said one of the ladies, who 
was starting a kindergarten in Boston, I would 
gather all homeless children into kindergartens 
on farms near a city, and I would begin their edu- 
cation by telling them stories, and the stories should 
show them the nobilitv of self-control. Self-control 
in youth prevents not only crime, but changes the in- 
fluences that lead to unworthy conduct and to in- 
sanity and suicide.” 

Father Taylor came in after an ardent, faithful 
sermon, and leaned on the shelf by the fire. 

He assented to the tenor of what had been said. 

I know well the power of story-telling,” he 
said. All life is but an extension of the spiritual 
faculties, all worlds, everything, simply spirit 
bodied forth. Stories furnish the ideals of life 
and all life follows suggestion. Do you hear that, 
my old story-tellers ? You are to tell stories during 
the holiday weeks — tell those that have souls in them, 


The Loneliest Man in the WorldP 


163 


and that will live in the memory of the boys at sea. 
A right story is a sermon; it chancres into an angel. 
I would have story-telling Sunday-schools — Christ 
did.’’ 

The stories that followed in the long evenings 
had this character. They illustrated life — 

“ Both what to follow, what to shun, 

Both what to do and leave undone, 

How turn to left and how to right.” 

There were three natural story-tellers/’ as they 
were called, present, the poet, another, an old trav- 
eler, and another, a domestic called Scottish Nora. 

Let me start a story-telling school in the Holi- 
day Home for the Christmas season,” said Father 
Taylor. In my view stories of self-control are the 
kind most needed. Who will become a teacher in 
that department % ” 

I will tell one such a story,” said the poet. I 
have one in mind.” 

I could tell a story,” said the old traveler, that 
would illustrate the truth ^ If one would make 
sheeps of themselves, they must expect to get shorn.’ ” 

That would be excellent,” said Father Taylor. 

And on Christmas night we will have riddles. 
We will call in the Rhyming Eiddler.” 

There was such an odd character among the 
sailors. 

And I,” said Scottish Nora — I could tell you 


164 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


some experiences of me own that would show you 
how to avoid some of the hum'ps of life — ah — it is 
many bruises that I have had/’ 

And I — I think I could tell you a story of 
charity/’ said Captain Pigeon — one that would 
make us all love to say — 

“ ‘ There are angels hovering ’round.’” 

That is the right kind of a tale/’ said Father 
Taylir. Save your story until Christmas Eve. 
Let us have stories that will live in life.” 

The story-telling in this new school of influence 
was begun by the poet on the first evening of Christ- 
mas week. It was a tale of a Jew. 

His story was one of a philosopher whose system 
of philosophy is hardly consistent with the pure and 
simple teachings of Christ, but who caught the spirit 
of the teachings of Christ in a beautiful way, after 
his J ewish education. We relate it to show how self- 
sacrificing the Jewish heart may become, and to 
make a plea for the Jewish children in the Ghettos. 

THE LOHELIEST MAH IN THE WORLD.” 

It is the fate of the wanderer to fall over the 
precipice.” The speaker was an Amsterdam JeAV 
named Chisdai. He was a heresy hunter, and he 
had long been pursuing a polisher of gems, or lenses, 
named Baruch Spinoza. This polisher of gems had 




SISTER ELIZABETH 


(Page 165.) 




“ Tho Loneliest Man in the World.'^^ 


165 


made himself one of the most learned men in the 
world, but he was a lonely student. He had thought 
deeply while learning his trade, this same Baruch 
Spinoza. One day he startled the Wise Men of the 
Synagogue by declaring that Thought must be 
free if it would know the truths of life, and it ought 
not to be governed by the laws of a State Church.” 

Hot by the laws of Moses? ” asked the watchful 
Chisdai. 

Hot by Moses, nor by any man. There is noth- 
ing that is true that is not universal and eternal, 
and truth is self revealing, and is open to all who 
seek its light.” 

In that view the Jew is no more elect of God 
than the Gentile,” said the heresy hunter. 

Ho, he is not ; all men are alike the children of 
God, and he who denies himself the most for others 
shall receive the most truth from the light of God, 
like Melchisedec, to whom Abraham paid tithes, 
although Melchisedec was not a Jew, but had found 
the truth by the light of the spiritual laws of his 
own life. Ho, Chisdai, the Jew is not and never 
was more than any Gentile who obeys the laws of the 
inner light. Truth is truth wherever found.” 

Baruch Spinoza, polisher of gems, thou hast 
spoken blasphemy, and I have long been following 
you to hear you speak that Avord that denies the 
priesthood of Israel. I liaA^e heard it ; for that pur- 
pose I have crept after you in lonely courts at night, 


166 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons. 


under the moon and stars, and for that purpose 1 
have stood behind you at night on the bridges of Am- 
sterdam. Hear me, Baruch Spinoza, polisher of 
gems, it is my duty to accuse you to the Synagogue. 
As a heretic I hate you, and I will make you a 
fugitive from our own race; you shall be spat upon 
in the streets of Amsterdam. I hate you as a here- 
tic, and all the world shall come to avoid you. You 
shall be cursed in the Synagogue, with that curse on 
the parchment that makes men wither. It is the 
fate of the wanderer to fall over the precipice ! 

The speaker glided away in the shadows of the 
law courts, where dim lights were flickering in the 
cold, raw winds, leaving the polisher of gems stand- 
ing alone. 

O Chisdai, Chisdai, my enemy,’’ said Spinoza. 

I pity thee out of the new light that has arisen in 
my heart. A curse withers the lips that utter it ; hate 
poisons the blood of him who harbors it. I wait 
but the opportunity to do thee good, whatever thou 
mayest do to me.” 

He went to the Amstel Bridge, under which the 
rapid waters were flowing. To him all men were 
equal; the soul was the true book of God; and 
divine revelation awaited all men who obeyed 
spiritual laws. 

The curse of the Synagogue,” he said. T 
heard it once pronounced, and no words more awful 
ever entered into the imagination of men. I have 


The Loneliest Man in the World T 


167 


never done anytliing but to love niy fellow-men. 
Why should Chisdai seek to bring upon me the curse 
of the Synagogue ? ’’ He walked to and fro in the 
dim light. 

seek not to have revenge on any one/^ he 
said, but when one harms me I only seek to learn 
the caUbG of it. To know all is to forgive all. It 
is the bigotry of my people that has led Chisdai to 
hate me. I pity him in my heart and forgive him 
for his blindness. I would change his heart if I 
could; to change a man’s heart from evil ‘ntent 
to love opens cne of the gates of Heaven to the soul.” 

He walked to and fro; his soul glowed with love 
to God and to all men; he believed that the spirit 
of God lived in everything, and that every life that 
had consciousness was divine. He was, as one has 
long after his death described him, a God-intoxi- 
cated ” man. 

His heart longed for the happiness of all men, 
and all men were about to leave him utterly alone 
in the world. 

It was Christmas eve. The wind was going down, 
and the sails were falling about the quais. The 
early Christmas exercises in the churches were end- 
ing, and crowds with evergreens came hurrying joy- 
fully over the bridge, and the polisher of gems stood 
there alone by a lamp-post to see the bright, happy 
faces pass. 

His Jewish features stood out distinctly in the 


168 


JaclhS Carrier Pigeons, 


narrow circle of light. As the children saw him 
they pushed aside ; they drew away their evergreens 
from him, and said one to another, The Jew.’’ 

The hells filled the air above the glimmering 
waters — bells of joy, calling the people to celebrate 
the birth of the Babe of Bethelehem, in the after 
service that was to follow the children’s hour into the 
holy night. 

The crowd of merry children had now passed over 
the bridge, and had done, as they dreamed, a signal 
service in shunning the Jew under the lamp. 

One little girl came after the rest, alone. She 
was crying. She saw the polisher of gems and 
stopped. She looked up into his face wonderingly. 

You are a Jew?” she asked. I pity you,” 
she said. I have been to the church, and they 
gave all the other girls presents, but they forgot me. 
I am all alone in the world : you are all alone in the 
world. You do pity me, don’t you ? There is no room 
for us in the inn. Would you, who are a Jew, 
make me a little Christmas present, if you had one ? ” 
My child, did ever a Christian make a little 
Jewish girl a Christmas present? Was ever such a 
heart large enough to do a thing like that ? ” 

'Not that I ever heard.” 

My child, that thought was unworthy of me. 
May the Highest forgive me.” 

But did you ever know a Jew to make a little 
Christian girl, who was forgotten, a Christmas 
present ? ” 


The Loneliest Man in the Worldi 


169 


'No — no — may the Highest forgive them all ! ’’ 

And, sir, is your heart big enough to do that ? '' 

He had a warm coat about him with great pockets. 
He took from one of them a gold and silver box. 
It contained spikenard. 

Here/’ said he, is a box of nard. As often as 
you open it perfume will fill the air. It is my pres- 
ent to you. And here is a gold piece to go with it.” 
He turned his face to the stars. 

They brought to the Babe nard,” said the child. 

What Babe ? ” he said, looking down. 

The One for whom there was no room in the 
inn.” 

She turned away, the full light of joy in her eyes. 

My child, don’t speak to me if you ever see me 
again. It is only what we do, without any desire for 
gratitude, love or reward, that enriches the soul.” 

She passed out of the circle of light into the 
shadows, and her light step was lost to his ear on the 
bridge, growing silent now. 

And he soon after passed from the circle of light 
into the shadows. A terrible hour was at hand. 

******* 

Over the door of a Synagogue in Amsterdam, 
the words spj;' n**!! The House of Jacob,” burned 
through the sun-illumined mist. Babbis were pass- 
ing through the seven columns of the vestibule, their 
long beards bending low, as though some weight 


170 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


of the world unusually heavy was resting upon their 
shoulders. They descended, for the room where the 
people were assembling was below the ground, that 
they might cry to God Out of the depths.’’ 

One old man passed in from the light in silence, 
and went down into the depths ; it was the father of 
Spinoza, the polisher of gems. 

Baruch ben Benjamin Spinoza, the polisher of 
gems, was to appear before the Council of Ten 
Judges that day to answer to the charge of heresy 
in that he had declared that all men were born equal, 
and that all thought should be free, and that all who 
obeyed spiritual laws and sought spiritual light were 
alike the children of God. 

The fire of consum]3tion was burning in the thin 
face of the accused, his soul shone through the light 
casement of his form like a pale fiame in a vase of 
alabaster. 

He walked down the steps and into the golden 
room, with the air of one who had overcome the 
world, and stood near his father, who sat with his 
face to the fioor, inwardly groaning. 

Ohisdai was there, his enemy and accuser. He 
felt that his hour of triumph had come. 

An awesome silence fell on the assembly. The 
initial ceremonies were performed, and the Judge 
read the charge and called the witnesses. 

Chisdai arose. 

He has blasphemed God and the prophets. 


“ The Loneliest Man in then World P 


ITl 


He has followed the Baal reason — Woe is the hour 
— woe is the hour ! ’’ 

You hear the charges/’ said the Judge. You 
are a follower of reason; do you recant? Baruch 
ben Spinoza, answer me that ! ” 

Kefute me by reason and I will recant. God 
works not contrary to reason.” 

It was so silent that it seemed as though the earth 
stood still. 

The polisher of gems listened to other witnesses 
against him. 

Do you recant ? ” again asked the Judge. 

After the manner that you call reason, so worship 
I the God of my fathers, for so have been His revela- 
tions to me. I cannot think otherwise than I have 
thought, nor can you do otherwise than you have 
done. You may pronounce a curse upon me, but I 
curse you not, nor do I curse any one.” 

The rabbis tore their mantles at these words. 
The father of the accused bent down to the dust. 

A rabbi took up a trumpet and blew it three times, 
and the echoing notes died away in the silence of the 
dusky arches. 

Then the Judge opened the sacred ark from a 
golden recess, and took from it a parchment. 

The old man in the dust heard the parchment 
unrolling, and exclaimed, Out of the depths ! Out 
of the depths ! ” 

The Judge said : Ye assembly hear and witness.” 


172 Jack's Carrier Pigeons. 

A shudder that filled the hall followed these 
words. 

He stood there, the j^olisher of gems, as a lamb led 
to the slaughter; and yet like a bird with lifted 
wing, he seemed to feel the presence of the sky, the 
azure brow of the Eternal All. 

In the name of the Lord of Hosts,’’ said the 
Judge, lay thee, Baruch, son of Benjamin, un- 
der the eternal curse, earthly and heavenly. 

Cursed be thee by the saints above/' 

Out of the depths,” cried the father of Baruch, 
lying in the dust, My son, my son ! ” 

''I curse thee by the Seraphim! " 

Out of the depths,” rose the same voice as before 
in deeper agony. I am lost in my son.” 

"'By the decree of this Council, be thy name shut 
out from all communities, and cast out of every na- 
tion under Heaven/' 

To this the lips of the old man in the dust made no 
response. 

On thee be great and heavy plagues, great dis- 
tresses and horrible sicknesses. May thy star vanish 
and thy house be a dragon's den." 

His voice rose higher. 

Where Isi^ael lies buried, may thy grave never 
be! 

" Baruch, son of Benjamin, may thy name be cast 
out from every nation under Heaven! " 

He added, Go out into the world again, and 
cursed be thy going out ! ” 


The Loneliest Man in the Worlds 1Y3 


The polisher of gems turned and departed. The 
assembly arose, and spat at him as he went. 

Out ! The sun still shone for him, the birds 
still sung for him, the flowers still bloomed for him, 
the stream flowed, and the seed sprung out of the 
earth. Human hearts shut their doors, but open 
still stood the gates of the visible Heavens. Out was 
the all. 

Out ? I am telling with some bits of inter- 
pretive Action a true story. What shall the future 
of this outcast be ? Is his star indeed extinguished \ 

He wrote in hidden chambers now. The sub- 
stance of what he wrote was that God is love, and the 
eye of the heart blind, and that obedience to spiritual 
law was an illumination. The pure see, the obedi- 
ent know. 

One day a doctor came to him, and said, I come 
to thee as a physician, and not as a Jew. There is 
a colony of Jewish emigrants about to start for 
Brazil. Chisdai wished to join them, but they did 
not receive him. There is not a elew in Amsterdam 
that will ever forgive him for accusing you.^’ 

There is one, doctor.’’ 

Who ? ” 

I will forgive him.” 

We hate those whom we injure. Hate feeds on 
hate and grows into crime. 

One night as Spinoza was resting in the church 
portico of St. Clave, a muffled stranger approached 


174 


Jacl's Carrier Pigeons, 


him, and thrust a dagger into his coat, thinking that 
he had stabbed him, and fled away. A few hours 
the body uf this muffled stranger was found in the 
Amstel. The would-be assassin had thought that he 
had murdered his victim, which he had not. He 
was Chisdai. 

The story, which was intended to show how forgiv- 
ing the heart of a Jew might be, was followed by a 
queer enough traveler’s story, by the traveler. This 
we will give in another chapter. 

The day before Christmas found Jack lying on 
his bed. Dark came on early, and his tallow dip 
burned down early in the evening. 

There was a light in the stairway, and it increased. 
He heard a voice — it was that of the good woman of 
the house. 

You must do it this time,” said she. The 
house is full of company — don’t you know ? ” 

Yes, but it hurts me. We’ve got enough.” 

But to-morrow is Christmas, don’t you know ? 
I must have a pigeon pot pie.” 

Yes, well — I don’t know. I couldn’t eat one of 
my pigeons. Let’s turn back. They are a part of 
my congregation. It is bloody work that you want 
me to do. Jack ? ” 

It was Bather Taylor’s voice. 

Sir?” 

Would you be after killing some of the pigeons 
for the Christmas^ breakfast ? Hey, boy ? ” 


“ The Loneliest Man in the World T 1Y5 


JSTo — not our pigeons/’ 

Let’s turn back.” 

Jack saw the darkness growing. He heard the 
housekeeper say: 

Well, if you ain’t the most chicken-hearted man 
for an old sailor that I ever knew ! ” said the discom- 
fited housekeeper. 

All was dark then; all was still. The incident is 
practically true. 


OHAPTEE XI. 


THE QUEER LITTLE MAID THAT SAW LIGHTS O'" HIGHTS. 

The nights grew long, and the days short. The 
still, gray December days came, and the snug 
harbor ’’ home was filled with people from many 
lands. 

Jack’s interest in the Jewish children of the street 
led to the telling of Jewish stories, and some of them 
were associated with frankincense or nard, or the 
boxes of odors — a kind of story somewhat out of the 
common trend, but quite in harmony with the new 
work. 

Sea-captains came into the inn evenings, and told 
tales of adventures in many lands. Among these 
was one that greatly amused the young Jack tars. 
The captain had become a traveler, and he called 
his story The Queer Little Maid that Saw Lights.’’ 

In traveling,” began the captain, beware of 
people who tell you they have great relations, 
great riches, or who have done great things in far 
away places ” 

Amen,” said Father Taylor, who somehow 
seemed to relish the remark. 

And especially beware,” continued the captain, 

176 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 177 

of suspicious people. Such people are always to 
be suspected, and they are usually suspicious of 
the same faults in others that they have themselves.*^’ 
Amen/’ said Father Taylor again. 

The captain then set out on the voyage ” of his 
curious story, which illustrated these truths. 


THE QUEER EITTEE MAID THAT SAW EIGHTS. 

It was near the close of the yeare 18 — . I had 
been spending the summer in Switzerland with my 
wife. My wife had a little maid we called Lettie, 
whom, as it will appear, I shall have cause to remem- 
ber. She was a very suspicious little body, and 
had a great fear of robbers and that we would 
be robbed. She was a novel reader, and especially 
liked such works as Wuthering Heights ” and 
The House on the Marsh.” 

This little maid is the one mystery of my life. 
I have but one clew to her character, which is a 
proverb which she used frequently to quote : If 
people will make sheep of themselves (she used to 
say ‘ sheeps ’ in a double plural) they must expect 
to be devoured by wolves.” She had a literary taste, 
or affected to have, and was apt in quotation, and 
once when I offered her an unused ticket to the 
museum, which place I had pronounced in the com- 
mon way, and she asked if I meant the mus-ee-um,’^ 
I said to my wife : 


178 Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 

Where do you suppose Lettie lived before she 
came to us ? ’’ 

I never study the history of my servants/’ said 
she. I see that you do not altogether like her ; 
why ? ” 

She is a little affected/’ said I, and too sus- 
picious. She talks too much about being ^ strictly 
honest.’ People as a rule do not say much about 
that which is continuous. If a person tells again 
and again that he is honest, he is apt to have some 
reason for it. If one says to me that he can eat any- 
thing, that one has had or has the dyspepsia. Peo- 
ple who put cotton in keyholes are those who 
peep through keyholes. An honest mind is trans- 
parent and thinks no evil.” 

But you are suspicious of Lettie,” said my 
wife. 

She reminds me of a hypnotic partridfi:e when 
the bird has something to conceal. She hides every- 
thing wuth a nervous flutter.” 

She has learned prudence by service as a lady’s 
companion,” replied my wife, and men are not good 
judges in such matters.” 

I had no more to say at that time, but one day 
Lettie astonished me beyond measure by quoting 
from Browning: 

Truth is within ourselves ; it takes no rise from 
outward things.” 

Where did you And that ? ” asked I. 'No one 
had ever asked me to any Browning club. 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 179 

I read ^ Paracelsus/ ’’ sard she. 

Did you read ^ Paracelsus ’ asked in alarm. 

Her cap border gave a little wiggle of agitation, 
and she seemed to concentrate her muscles into a 
statue, and the statue spoke, Pygmalion-like : 

I read ^ Paracelsus.’ ” Pier form seemed to 
grow. 

Oh, do you ? ” said I, meekly, with a new sense 
of thu progress of the age. I was so hurt and hum- 
bled that I went out and found relief in freeing an 
industrious hen who had become entangled in a cord 
that restrained her activities. 

We came from Geneva to London in December, 
and concluded to go to Southampton to take a ship 
home. We arrived at that place late in the month, 
took rooms in a quiet quarter of the town near a 
gabled house which we were told had been one of ’the 
palaces of Henry VIII., and where Anne Boleyn 
had passed the few happy days of her married life. 

The street was a very old one. It looked down 
to Southampton Water through a heavy stone arch, 
through which we were told that the soldiers of 
Henry V. had passed on their way to Agincourt. 
Tlie little inn where we stopped was called The 
Sign of the Ship/’ from some long-gone legend. The 
upper windows overlooked the harbor and were over- 
looked at a little distance by the pointed roofs of the 
old palace of Henry VIII., which stood in a some- 
what central part of the city. 


180 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


At this hotel, which now may have ceased to exist, 
I met with one of the most singular experiences of 
my life. 

The inn had been recommended to me as a quiet, in- 
expensive place, of the old-time cast and character, 
by a friend whom I had met at Geneva, and who did 
me there many kind favors. We came to it just at 
night, and our little maid, who had gained a great 
influence over my life, and whose tongue was never 
silent with her suspicions, seemed to regard it un- 
favorably as soon as we had alighted from the hack. 
We had found her at Geneva, and we could see that 
she was not altogether willing to accompany us to 
America. She was suspicious,’’ as she said, of 
Americans. 

All the saints help us now,” she exclaimed, as 
we passed through the gate. I have seen that place 
before.” 

Where, Lettie ? ” asked my wife, with a look of 
apprehension. 

In me dreams, lady.” She used the word 
lady ” in a different tone. I could see that my 
good wife usually liked the sound of the word. 

Places seen in dreams do not usually offer cheer- 
ful suggestions. We passed into the old wooden hall 
through a faded garden of hedgerows. We were 
met by some stolid people, who were civil, and 
thought themselves polite, and were shown apart- 
ments on the lower floor of the tavern house, that 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights. 181 

looked to be very ancient, and that smelled musty. 
There was no backyard to the inn; the rambling 
building seemed to connect with other buildings, 
some of which were gray and green with moss. 

We are to wait for the steamer ^ American,’ ” 
said I to the landlady. She is yet to come in, is 
she not?” 

We always watch for the flag on the consulate,” 
said she, and tell our guests when the steamer ar- 
rives. ^ The ^ American,’ the ^ American,’ did you 
say? Why, no, man, she is already in port. It is 
good weather, I hear, that they have been having out- 
side; they set the flag oh the consulate for her yes- 
terday, as I remember.” 

Of all the places in the world to wait for a steam- 
er, there is none more delightful than Southampton 
— Southampton Water. The town holds the history 
of England in its associations, and the opportunity 
to visit the beautiful ruin of Hetley Abbey — the 
middle ages in miniature — Cowes, on the Isle of 
Wight, and Osborne House, a favorite residence of 
the Queen, and Ventnor, a summer land by the sea, 
on the same island, is easy, and brings a sense of 
charm that never fades from memory. Lord Ten- 
nyson loved the island, and lived here homed ’mid 
evergreens. As beautiful is the ride to Winchester, 
the place of the tombs of early English kings, under 
the oaks of the centuries. One could linger in 
Southampton weeks, before the returning voyage, 


182 Jade’s Carrier Pigeons. 

The city and its suburbs are haunted by the most 
romantic memories of the Saxon, Norman and old 
English periods of history, and of the beautiful 
Mayflower ’’ legend, of eternal fame. 

My wife did not like our rooms. The little maid 
shook her white cap at them like a weathercock, 
distended her eyes warningly and said : Always 

beware of ground floor rooms in strange places.’’ 

So I went to the short, round-faced landlady and 
said : 

We will be here but a short time, can you not 
give us some upper rooms ? ” 

I would be glad to accommodate you, if I could,” 
said the landlady, but the rooms above are not 
tidied. It may be that you will be here but a single 
night, as the ship is already in port.” 

We ordered a sole, a delicious kind of flsh, for 
supper, and went out to see the city of the long-gone 
Ilenrys. 

Some places have souls,” said Lettie, as we went 
down the street, and there is something living 
that haunts me about those mouldy rooms. Not 
spirits, no, no, not those; something living — I have 
a second sight. I have seen rooms just like those in 
my sleep — and I dreamed of such a one three times.” 

Oh, away now with superstitions ! ” said I. 

She merely answered : Well, if you will, you 
will.” 

We came to the huge sea wall, a thousand years 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 183 

old. The liavened waters lay under it, only stirred 
by the light oars of boats. 

‘‘ It was out of this harbor that the Pilgrim 
Fathers of New England sailed/’ said I. 

They were the Argonauts of America/’ said 
Lettie. And may we only get away as safely/’ 
she added. The pilot of the Argonaut never came 
back.” 

I glanced at my wife and felt withered by our 
ignorance. 

Beyond the water, red with the sunset of the short 
days, was Cowes on one side and a great marine 
hospital on the other, near which our guidebook told 
us were the remains of Netley Abbey. The high 
roof of the hospital gleamed in the last rays of the 
sun. I hold the picture of it all in my mind. 

We went to Canute’s palace, and found it a stable. 
It was too late to take a journey to the historic New 
Forest, or to take a ride on the oaklined Winchester 
road. So we walked along the great street by the sea 
over which travelers had passed for thousands of 
years. Splendid steamers were near, like an iron 
wall, but the atmospheres of the past were still every- 
where. 

We found our steamer among the ocean palaces at 
the many wharves, and learned that she was to leave 
on the day after the day that followed, having a 
special passenger engagement, with a great tourist 
party. 


184 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons, 


As we were returning, we cast our eyes up to a 
tall warehouse and read: On this place Canute re- 
buked the vanity of his courtiers by ordering back 
the sea ! 

It was a wise old head he had/’ said Lettie, who 
seemed more familiar than we with the exact his- 
torical circumstances, and I would rather stay all 
night in the stable that was his palace than to be 
robbed where we are goii g now. The robber will be 
old, and dark, and creepy like, and all bent over, 
and his eyes will be black, and his beard long, and his 
fingers will all go wiggly-waggly.” 

That will do, Lettie,” said I. Such talk as that 
makes my wife nervous. We shall not be robbed. 
Travelers returning home are never robbed. Their 
letters of credit are too small to tempt thieves — mine 
always is.” 

The lights began to twinkle in the stores, and 
there was holly in many windows. There was a little 
sailors’ church near the sea to which men were carry- 
ing evergreens for decorations. 

The town needs no trimming,” said I, as we 
passed along the Canute road toward the ancient 
walls that faced the sea. The old fortifications and 
towers are mantled with ivy all the year. This port 
is associated with William the Conqueror, I believe; 
here may have come Queen Matilda’s ship with the 
many-colored silken sails.” I fancied I had said 
something bri^’ht and classical. 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 185 

I wondered what reply Lettie would make to so 
much learning as that. 

And only to think what tragedies this place has 
seen, only to think of them ! ’’ said the ready Lettie. 

This is the place where people disappear — I have 
read; and they have not all gone yet, I mind. I 
shall be glad when you are on the sea.’’ 

The red sun had gone down. The sea lights were 
twinkling, and the port town grew very still. There 
were street lights here and there, the lamp posts be- 
ing placed at long distances with great economy. 
We returned to the little, old, rambling inn, found 
our supper of fried sole and fragrant tea awaiting 
us; ate it with a relish; talked briefly with some 
travelers in the office and reception room, which in 
this case were one, and I and my wife went to our 
room. 

Lettie did not follow at once. She said: 

I wish to make a few purchases at the shops 
around the corner,” and went out. We heard the 
gate close behind her. She had not gone long. She 
returned saying : Things look very strange around 
here. Are ycur valuables all safe ? ” 

I had no valuables to be otherwise than safe. But 
my wife had a jewel case which she bought in 
Geneva, and had received some gold on her letter of 
credit in London. She always had money; her 
bank never failed. 

She started at Lettie’s question, and said: 


186 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


If anything should happen, Lettie, see here ; I 
have put money and jewelry into my sleeve pocket, 
in this sacque, and I am going to hang the sacque 
under my morning dress here in plain sight this 
side of your door/’ 

There was a strong hook on the side of the door in 
our room that opened into Lettie’s room. My wife 
hung the sacque in the hidden way that she had de- 
scribed, where it could be recovered immediately, in 
case of an alarm. 

Lettie’s room joined ours, and opened into it. 
Both apartments were ample. Soon after she closed 
her door she rapped nervously, and on my wife’s 
saying come,” she ventured : 

Strange that they should have put us on the 
ground floor. There is a door at the end of my room 
— where do you suppose it goes to? It opens out. 
Oh, always beware of rooms that open out. I’ve 
read of them — I haven’t read books and books for 
nothing.” 

The landlady appeared while Lettie’s imagination 
was thus active. 

Have you everything that you will need for the 
night ? ” said she to my wife, rattling some keys that 
were bound around her waist by a long cord. 

I would like two tallow dips, if you please,” 
piped Lettie, putting her head into the door. 

Certainly it is two tallow dips that you can have 
— I mean always to be accommodating, but you will 
not need them. Will you sit up long? ” 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, l87 

I feel that I will sit up all night ; it is that 
nervous that I am, madam. It is fits imaginations 
I have sometimes.ii 

The landlady did not comprehend. 

There surely can be nothing to make you nerv- 
ous here; there is not a more peaceable spot in all 
England/i she said. The guests that come here arc 
mostly sea captains.’’ She turned away to send a 
servant for another dip for Lettie. 

I wonder/’ said the latter, if all the sea cap- 
tains that come here sail away again, or whether this 
is not the end of the voyage with some of them. I 
can feel that there is a tall man in the other room. 
People have astral bodies.” 

Oh, Lettie, talk no more,” said I. Go into 
your room and be quiet for the rest of the night,” I 
answered. I shall no sooner touch the bed than 
I shall be sound asleep.” 

She closed the door timidly with a faint good- 
night. 

Astral bodies — what are they ? ” asked my wife. 

What do you suppose the girl means ? ” 

I haven’t the remotest notion,” said I. She 
has read novels till she is flighty at times — a little 
touched in mind.” 

I sank into a bed of feathers under a canopy — a 
valance of Dolly Varden pattern, such as Pickwick 
may have found at the Eed Cross Inn, on the night of 
the untoward happenings. 


188 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons. 


I was soon in the bliss of a transient oblivion, when 
I was aroused by hearing my wife say in a stage 
voice — ^^Horace ? 

What is it? 

Horace, get up.’’ 

Why ? ’’ I asked, in the shortest possible interro- 
gation. 

Don’t you hear ? Lettie is knocking on the door 
again.” 

There came a rapid knock. 

I roused and listened. It came again. 

What now ? ” I said impatiently. 

There’s something in the other room,” she whis- 
pered, then added : It is orful. It is no fit of im- 
aginations that I am having — ^you can see it your- 
self — do come, do, or I shall fiy.” 

Well, fiy,” said I. I added,^ This is too bad ! ” 

J\Iy wife was on her feet, and opened the door 
leading into Lottie’s apartment. 

Still-like, still,” I heard Lettie say, tiptoeing. 
Hist ” 

My wife disappeared in the room of mystery. 

Presently she returned. 

You will have to come, Horace,” she said, in a 
troubled voice ; there is something.” 

I partly dressed and entered the room. At the 
foot of this room was an antique door, and over the 
door was a transom that would turn. Lettie had 
inounted a chair and opened the transom, and had 


The Queer TAttle Maid That Saw Lights, 189 

made some discovery that had filled her heart with 
terror. My Avife.had also looked through the tran- 
som, and had taken alarm at something that she 
had seen. 

What is it now V’ 1 asked. 

' There is something very strange at the farther 
end of the other room/’ whispered my wife. 

Listen!” 

I stood silent, and presently heard a very innocent 
voice in the next room say : 

INTow, my hearty, I have you all made up. How 
do you think he looks ? ” 

There was a long silence. 

Then a joyous laugh rang out, and a rippling voice 
said: 

I don’t think he looks much like a thief after 

all.” 

The word thief caused our little maid’s cap 
border to bob, and one of her hands to dart up into 
the air, and the ends of her fingers to quiver. 

Presently a voice, and it seemed as if the patience 
of the ages was in it, said moderately in the next 
anartment : 

This one is all right — now I will make up an- 
other thief I ” — My wife looked at me in the deepest 
concern. — Three will be enough to knock the good 
heretic off his horse, and to rob him and leave him 
for dead,” continued the forbearing voice, in a tone 
like an ancient priest that echoed through the tran- 
som. 


190 


JacT^s Carrier Pigeons. 


We three stood freezing at these words, and our 
little maid’s left hand went np like an exclamation 
point, as her right hand had done. Every nerve in 
her body seemed to be in a tension of excitement. 

All the saints deliver ns ! ” she whispered, in 
stage voice, bringing her two hands together. 

She stepped toward the chair under the transom 
very cautiously, very still, waving her arms like a 
little windmill as she went. She mounted the chair, 
took one look through the transom, turned around 
and bent on us a face of most intense terror, like a 
stage face. Was she acting ? 

She went into my room and beckoned to us. She 
shut the door and sank into a chair. 

I know what it is now,” she said. I know all 
about it. It is a thiefmaker’s shop. The man makes 
over men who have been thieves. They do such 
things in Paris, so I have read. Prance is only just 
across the channel, and thev do such things here.” 

My wife ga:;ped. 

What do you mean, Lettie ? ” asked I. The 
little maid’s attitude seemed to throw a spell over me. 
I found myself under her influence, as if yielding to 
some strange influence. My heart began to beat so 
as to make me dizzy. 

It is this way,” answered the maid, all agitation : 

A man commits a crime, and he hurries off to a 
place like that, and the ^ Presto-Change ^ man there 
makes him all over. Oh ! Oh ! he puts a new nose 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 191 

• 

on him, new eyebrows; a wig, cuts off his beard, or 
puts on one of another color, fits a hump to his back, 
clots him with small-pox marks; gives him a crutch, 
makes a lean man fat, a short man tall. Don’t you 
see ? He does it as if by magic. The man goes out, 
and his own brother would not know him. He pre- 
tends to help the police to find himself. He goes 
onto a steamer in the very eyes of the police. What 
did I tell you? That’s the very man I saw in my 
three dreams. But that was not all that I saw in 
my dream. Oh, oh, this is dreadful, but not all, not 
all !” What else she had seen she mercifully left to 
our imagination. She swayed to and fro exclaim- 
ing Oh ! ” at every motion. 

This is a place where they make men over ! ” 
she continued, seeing how I was affected. I have 
read of such things. I am going to scream ! ” 

Ho, no, not yet,” said I; ^Met us go and look 
again. Ho crime has been committed yet.” 

I’ll go again,” said Lettie, with new resolution, 
and if I see anything I’ll put my head out of the 
window and scream — I’ll scream ^ murder ! police ! 
murder ! ’ I’ll scream loud enough to put a stop to 
all the wickedness in the world ! ” 

That would have been a benevolent action, surely, 
but I would hardly want our maid to scream like 
that. She stole into her room with a bowed form as 
full of some wild will, and we followed her, candles 
in hand. She mounted the chair, and took another 


192 


JacT^s Car Tier Pigeons, 


sudden glance into the apartments beyond.. She 
stepped down and whispered in a very stage-like atti- 
tude: 

They are bringing in the body. He’s dead. 
How we’ll all be arrested and hanged. Where’s the 
consul ? ” 

I mounted the chair all nerves and agitation. It 
was, indeed, a strange and suspicious scene which 
met my eye. The long apartment looked like some 
scene in Bagdad out of the Arabian Hights.” In 
it was a tall, robust man, rather old, with long, patri- 
archal beard, and in a flowing robe and girdle. By 
his side stood a little girl with an innocent face of 
wonderful beauty. Standing near were three vil- 
lainous-looking men, and on a couch lay a man cov- 
ered, as it appeared, with bloody wounds, and seem- 
ingly dead. 

A noble-looking man in Oriental costume entered 
the room, with a flask in his hand. He asked, How” 
do I look ? ” The little girl’s face turned into smiles, 
and she answered : Good, good, blessed ! ” 

How could this innocent child be smiling amid 
horrors like these ? Had she become so hardened in 
crime % 

The tall man bent a benevolent look on the visitor. 

Yes, yes, it is as my little Ruth says — you look 
good. This,” he added, is all your affair, but I 
can enter into it in spirit.” He turned to the three 
villains and said: 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw IJghts. 193 

You will do the deed well.’^' 

I stepped back and whispered to my wife, A 
murder has been committed.’’ At this chilling an- 
nouncement Lettie clasped her head in her hands 
like an actress in a mad scene on the stage, and 
swayed to and fro despairingly. 

She rushed toward the window and was about to 
open it, when I held her back. 

I’ll holler now so that I will rouse the dead. I 
will ! ” 

That would be something out of the prophetic 
order. 

Hold, Lettie,” Lsaid, I am not sure.” 

We would be detained over a ship as witnesses,” 
said my thoughtful wife. Are you sure that the 
man is dead ? ” 

She looked through the transom again, standing 
on the chair. 

How that old man does not look as though he 
would have done that,” said she. The girl must 
be an idiot. She does not show the slightest feeling 
or pity. I have heard of such things before. The 
man is recovering ; he is sitting up.” 

Then, maybe I’ll not be hanged,” added Lettie, 
with a look of merciful hope relaxing her rigid face. 

Are you sure that our heads are right ? ” asked 
my wife. 

Mine is all right,” said Lettie. 

We entered our own room and sat down in silence. 

13 


194 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


141 ring the bell/’ said my wife. 

1^0, no — wait — let me think/’ said I, slowly. 

Lettie, don’t speak a word, let me think.” 

We sat in silence for some minutes. The Eng- 
lish church bell was striking ten, near the great com- 
mon where the statue of Dr. Watts, of hymn and 
nursery-song fame, stood. The town was still. J^ot 
even a footfall was heard on the streets, and the 
ancient inn was as still as the town. 

I tried to think, but the scenes I had witnessed 
were full of contradictions to any theory that I could 
form. The innocent, laughing face of the child was 
wholly inconsistent with the opinion of our bright, 
little maid. 

The voice of the old man was also out of keeping 
with such a theory. The human voice is the picture 
of the soul. A man’s true character may be read 
in his tone of voice. His soul makes the tone that 
is a keynote to what he is. Insincerity has a false 
tone always, but this man’s tone rang true to life; 
it was honest and sincere. 

I recalled the voices of the three thieves. I could 
not bring them back as distinctly, but they were such 
as would not have awakened any grave suspicion had 
I heard them on the street. 

What are we to do ? ” asked my wife. To what 
conclusion have you come ? ” 

Let me go back and look through the transom 
once more,” said I. 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 195 

If you had seen as much of the world as said 
Lettie, you would suspicion most people.’’ 

What mysterious experiences in life have made 
you so suspicious ? ” I asked again. 

I have had my disappointments,” she added 
with a sigh. 

I went back into Lettie’s room, and my wife and 
the maid followed me, the latter saying in a very 
depressing tone: 

Most people in this world need watching. You’ll 
find it so some day. What are your eyes for ? ” 

I again mounted the chair. 

The scene that I saw made me doubt my sanity. 
The old patriarch was seated by an open fire, the 
little girl was leaning on his knee, and the three 
thieves’ faces had changed into a sudden benevolence, 
and they seemed to have lost their noses, eyes, hair 
and beards. The men were smoking. 

Amazing as the transformations of the three 
criminals were, they surprised me less than the ap- 
pearance of the murdered” man. The latter had 
been to a commode where was an antique washbowl, 
and had washed the blood stains from his face, and 
was wiping his face with a towel. 

He came and sat down by the fire. 

How Eutii,” said the old man to the little girl, 
with a beaming face, pass around the box of nard. 
It is a custom that my people have, a very ancient 
custom. I hope you will like to enjoy it with me. 


196 Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons. 

It comforts me to have strangers like it. It recalls 
the ancient days before my people became wanderers 
over the earth. Breathe the odors with me. Yon 
used to use snuff-boxes in the old time; more pleas- 
ant, methinks, is the box of nard.’’ 

The little girl brought from a desk a very beauti- 
ful box, and handed it to the murdered ’’ man, 
and lifted the cover. The latter sat in silence as 
charmed by some new situation. 

Let me look now,^’ whispered our little maid at 
my elbow. 

I stepped from the chair and she looked through 
the transom. 

She quickly stepped down from the chair. 

He is poisoning them now. I have read of such 
things. The man has revived, and the old man is 
administering poison to him. Everything grows 
stranger and stranger! If I ever see another morn- 
ing I will have been made wiser by the experience 
of this orfiil night.’’ 

I mounted the chair again, and peered into the 
far, strange room. The little girl was passing the 
box from one to another. As each one held it under 
his chin, the most delicious odors seemed to arise 
from it, as in a faint cloud, and to suggest the land 
of dreams, of gardens afar, of Araby the Blest, and 
all beautiful things. 

I shall not go to bed again to-night,” said my 
wife. I shall sit here in my wraps till the morn- 


The Queer Lietle Maid That Saw Lights, 197 

ing comes, and no monej would ever tempt me to 
pass another night in this place/’ 

ISTor me/’ said Lettie, whose grammar was pro- 
vincial — nor me — I will never spend another night 
here. I have seen too much of the world ; I have 
lost faith in near most everybody.” 

Sho ! ” said I, but somehow I was falling under 
the same spell of peculiar apprehension that had 
overcome my wife. There was something wrong 
somewhere ; I could feel that. Criticism is the 
language of failure, and suspicion is a trait of char- 
acter to cause one to be suspected; but whatever 
could be the interpretation of that night’s events, 
there was insincerity in the atmosphere. 

What have we to read ? ” asked I. 

I have the ^ Mysteries of Paris,’ ” ventured 
Lettie. It is illustrated. I will go and get it.” 

She flitted into her room and back again, bringing 
the books. A glance at one of the illustrations was 
enough. I closed the volume, and wondered if a 
servant could wholly be trusted whose imagination 
fed on such food as that. 

The little maid flitted back and forth again and 
again, as though she had many thoughts in her head. 
She glanced at the sacque behind the door at times to 
see that it was safe. 

If anvthing should happen,” she said, I would 
look out for that first.” 

Faithful soul ! ” I heard my wife say. It 


198 


Jack^s Cai^Tier Pigeons, 


was a fortunate day that brought her to us — she 
would die for me.’’ 

Lettie heard these emphatic words. 

Yes/’ said she, that I would, lady. You are 
right. You have read my heart, like as the poet 
read the heart of Paracelsus.” She clasped her 
hands above her head, and I wondered if she had 
some time been an actress. 

Should I call the police ? The sudden return of 
the supposed murdered man to life threw my thoughts 
into utter confusion. Everything was contradiction, 
but something was wrong. 

Now I will go,” she said, at last, and I will 
watch for you in the other room. I have two tallow 
dips.” 

Faithful soul,” I heard my wife exclaim again. 

How prudent and farsighted she was, too — two tal- 
low dips.” 

We sat in our easy chairs in our dressing gowns, 
one at each end of the table. 

Faithful heart!” I heard my wife say again. 

I feel safe now — see what it is to have those that 
you can trust about you ! ” 

A fright is usually followed by a feeling of in- 
difference. My wife became calm. I could see that 
her mind was launching out on the sea of dreams. 

It is a charming experience in life to have spent 
a summer at Geneva. To keep awake my wife be- 
gan tosay: ^^Do you remember the day at the Chateau 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights. 199 

of Mme. de Stael? Do vou' remember Lausanne ? 
Voltaire’s Garden, with a view of Mont Blanc ? The 
concerts in the English Garden ? Eousseau’s garden 
in the lake under the trees, and our evenings there ? ” 
Now the path between don’t you remember ” 
and dreamland is short, and my wife’s memories 
tended from the shores of Lake Leman to sleep. I 
remembered it all, and how we had found our suspi- 
cious little maid at a consulate, and was there told 
that she could entertain as well as serve,” and that 
she had seen much of life on the Continent as a 
lady’s companion.” In the midst of the don’t 
you remembers ” and the reaction of excitement, I, 
too, began to feel leaden weights on my eyes, pulling 
downward, and to find surcease from horror in the 
reflection that the things that you do not see, do not 
hear, do not know, do not harm you. 

The wind blew mournfully along the sea walls, 
and rustled the loose leaves, and caused here and 
there a shutter to bang. The moon hung full over 
Southampton Water, and the clouds scudded over the 
moon. I had read of such nights as this in the 
gray of the year — Hallowe’en — St. Agnes’s Eve 
when 

“ The owl with all his feathers was a-cold.” 

I had one sweet consolation — ^time was flying. I 
could see that my wife was feeling more and more 
secure — and passing far out on the sea of oblivion. 


200 Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 

I, too, began to feel a like sense of security. We 
would be alarmed by the faithful, watchful Lettie in 
case- of toy attempt at robbery. I recall passing in 
mind farther and farther away from the door, the 
table, the Mysteries of Paris,’’ of wondering when 
I would find the time to join, in the buzz of Boston, 
in the study of the life of the mysterious physician 
who threw Galen away, and then I knew no more. 

There came a bang on the door. 

Six o’clock!” 

I started. 

My wife sat before me, looking like a ghost in her 
white wraps. 

She started and asked: 

Where are we, Horace ? ” — a traveler’s query. 

I was not sure, but my thoughts were coming home 
from the far ports of sleep. 

We are here,” said I, which assurance seemed to 
give us much relief. 

Where is Lettie % ” 

I will go and call her,” said my wife, rising in 
her ghostly wraps. 

She opened the door, looked into our maid’s room, 
and turned her head. 

Gone 1 ” said she, mysteriously. 

Gone ? ” said I, leaping to my feet. Gone 1 ” 
A thought came to me like the crack of an avalanche. 
I needed no light to assist me in solving one of the 
great mysteries of human existence. The solution 



ELIZABETH PALMER PEABODY, 
Founder of Boston s Kindergarten Schools. 








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The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 201 


did not come to me in any wavy lines of shadowy 
meaning, but in plain Benjamin Franklin^s words: 

If people will make sheep of themselves they must 
expect to be devoured by wolves/’ the favorite quo- 
tation of the vanished Lettie. 

Where is your sacque ? ” said I. 

My wife turned as on a pivot. She looked be- 
hind the dress which had been hung over it on the 
door. 

I never had seen her eyes become so large and 
mysteriously luminous. 

It is gone.” 

Is the jacket gone, too ? ” The question was an 
important one, but it only brought me a look of re- 
buke. 

Phoebus ! ” said I, rudely quoting our late maid. 

We dressed in silence, and rushed into the living 
room. The landlady was there with her jingling 
keys. 

Who occupies the apartments next to ours — 
through the transomed door ? ” I asked, without wait- 
ing to answer her Good morning, my friends.” 

Ahasuerus ! ” 

Ahasuerus ! ” said I, and what does he do ? ” 

And sure it is alarmed you are — he is a cos- 
tumer,’^ 

‘‘ A costumer — a costumer — are you sure ? ” 

Sure, certain, I am. The church folks rehearsed 
there last night for the tableau of the Good Samari- 


202 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


tan. Ahasuerus is an honest man. And where is 
your maid this morning, may I ask ? ’’ 

My wife did not reply. 

I was as silent. 

“ I have seen her before/’ said the landlady. 

She is one of the maids who sometimes disappear.” 

My wife touched me on my arm. 

Don’t say anything.” 

We had sole for breakfast, and ate in silence. 

We searched onr rooms again. 

We searched Lettie’s room. 

We found on the table this legend — 

If people will make sheeps of themselves, they 
must ” 

Faithful soul! ” said I, in an echo. 

Let us go right to the boat,” said my wife. 

Don’t let us try to find Lettie. Let us be thankful 
to find ourselves on board the boat.” 

She was a very positive woman. 

I ordered the carriage, and we rode past the 
Canute legend in silence. I have often asked mental 
questions about Lettie, but we never saw our novel- 
reading, poet-quoting little maid again. 

LITTLE JEWS. 

Jack did indeed think for himself in his lonely 
hours. TTis heart went out more and more towards 
the Jewish children. He continued to plan a school 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 203 

especially for thenij but the parents of some of them 
objected to I^ew Testament teachings. 

I will have an Old Testament kindergarten/^ 
said Jack to Frau Susanne one day. 

That honors your heart, Jack. I will help you. 
Seek the good of every one. Believe in all, love all, 
and build.’^ 

Captain Pigeon agreed to the plan of a Jewisli 
school that the little Jewish children might attend 
with the permission of their parents. 

So Jack began his school in one of Frau Su- 
sanne’s rooms. 

His first lesson was an odd one: he drew upon a 
board the picture of the casting of Joseph into the 
pit. 

The children were greatly interested. They 
wished him to repeat the lesson, and to allow their 
older friends to come and hear his way of telling 
the old story. 

He followed the suggestion. 

Frau Susanne helped him that day. She ad- 
dressed the company, and appealed to their hearts 
for all who needed the hand of help, and she sought 
to make plain to all that our duty to others must be 
done now. Jack worked at the board while she 
endeavored to enforce the lesson. He drew the 
Ishmaelites coming to the pit, and the coming and go- 
ing of Reuben. Frau Susanne’s thoughts followed 
the chalk, and the eyes and ears of all followed botia 


204 Jach^s Carrier Pigeons, 

Jack and Frau Susanne. The good woman’s lesson 
was like this: 


JOSEPH WAS HOT THERE. 

Were I to be asked, What story do you hold to 
be the most beautiful in all the world ? ” I should 
answer, That of Joseph. It is the most human of 
the world’s great stories, and it anticipated the gos- 
pel of redemption. If we are to regard Christ’s 
parables as stories, the parable of the prodigal son 
might be given the first place among the narrative 
interpretations of life. The story of Kuth is one of 
the most beautiful of the world’s narratives, because 
it represents a true heart. Longfellow’s Evange- 
line ” has the same spirit and end, and may be re- 
garded as one of the most beautiful stories ever 
written by an American pen. James Kussell Low- 
ell’s Legend of Sir Launfal ” is a notable interpre- 
tation of life. England has her story of King Al- 
fred and Round Table legends, and Germany her 
Rhinegold traditions, all of which are noble parables. 
But in our view the story of Joseph as a story, and 
'not as a parable, is the best of all the world’s great 
stories. The scene in which Joseph makes himself 
known to his brethren, who sold him to the wandering 
Ishmaelites, and in which he forgives the past and 
seeks only their good for the future, is unsurpassed 
in literature. It not only represents a turning- 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights. 205 

point in Hebrew history, and illustrates true great- 
ness of soul and the power of the human heart, but it 
prophesied the Sermon on the Mount of Beatitudes, 
the supreme teaching of the world. 

It is a familiar story, and there are many side 
incidents in it that appeal to the heart. The silver 
cup in the sack of Benjamin is one of these. 

But there is one incident of the story which some- 
times escapes interpretation in the reading, and 
which represents the lost opportunities of a good 
intention. Reuben had hoped to rescue his brother 
from the pit. He went away from his brothers at 
that critical time, possibly into the mountains, in- 
tending to return after they had gone cn their 
journey, and to lift Joseph out of the cavern. But 
he waited by himself too long. The incident is thus 
related with Oriental simplicity of detail : — 

And Reuben said unto them. Shed no blood, but 
cast him into this pit that is in the wilderness, and 
lay no hand upon him ; that he might rid him out 
of their hands, to deliver him to his father again. 


And Reuben returned unto the pit, and, behold, 
Joseph was not in the pit; and he rent his clothes. 

And he returned unto his brethren and said. 
The child is not, and I, whither shall I go ? 

His intention was noble, his plan kind, but he 
delayed too long. 


206 


JacVs Carrier Pigeons, 


Life is full of regrets for lost opportunities. We 
dream of what we will sometime do for others, but 
we leave them in their immediate need, and tarry by 
ourselves in the mountains too long. We go to the 
pit, but Joseph is not there, and then we say, The 
child is not, and I, whither shall I go ? 

It is claimed by certain English historians that 
Queen Elizabeth intended to rescue Queen Mary. 
If this were so, she went to the pit, and Joseph was 
not there.’’ 

Eossini’s father and mother were traveling musi- 
cians. Amid the scenes of almost unparalleled 
admiration which his genius awakened in Paris, his 
mother died. He* felt that he had neglected her. 
He resolved to leave gay Paris, and to return to his 
father and make a home for him. The story of 
Keuben should not be repeated again in his family 
history. 

A merchant has a faithful agent whom he intends 
to reward. The cleiL toils on year after year, en- 
riching him. The merchant waits too long. The 
overworked servant of his interests suddenly dies. 
The man of easy means and unearned luxury goes to 
the pit, and J oseph is not there. 

There is some member of a family who is un- 
fortunate. Through no fault of his own he fails. 
The members of the family intend to help him. The 
world turns against him, — he is in the pit. His 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights. 207 

kindred are in the mountains. They go at last to the 
pit, — J oseph is not there. 

We owe a duty to some soul in blindness, helpless- 
ness, stress, and struggle. We turn away from the 
need for the present. The unhappy victim of cir- 
cumstance is carried away into bondage. We go to 
the pit, but Joseph is not there. 

Are there those in the pits of life who may be sold 
into slavery while you are delaying ? Are there 
young people whom you should lift, old people whom 
you should help, people overcome by faults whom 
you should restore? Now is the day for the deed, 
lest you return to the pit to rend your clothes and 
ask, Whither shall I go ? ’’ He returned to the 
pit, and Joseph was not in it.’’ The hour of duty 
is ]vow. 

The story of the silver cup which Joseph put into 
the sack of Benjamin was told in like manner, with 
chalk pictures on the board, and appropriate thoughts 
on the touching story by Frau Susanne. 

The good woman told fairy stories, in original 
ways. But she also related tales that went home to 
the conscience, and those of warning and appeal. 

She preferred telling stories to reading them, for 
she thought there was an influence in direct speak- 
ing that could not be as well exerted in any other 
way. 

When she heard any one relate a character-build- 


208 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


ing story, she asked for it for the school. One of 
these stories, told by a traveler, had a very much 
needed lesson : 


THE CUEREHT ICE. 

In 1895 I passed a summer in Geneva, Switzer- 
land. It was an experience of enchantment, and the 
memory of it like a living, waking dream. 

One day, on Lake Leman, I was told a story which 
long haunted me, and has become to me a parable of 
life. 

In my boyhood days I had learned Byron^s stanzas 
on Lake Leman, — 

“ Clear, placid Leman, thy contrasted lake.” 

I well recall such lines as 

“Ye stars which are the poetry of heaven,” 

and 

“ This is in the night, most glorious night,” 

impressed me. The impression made by the stanza 
came back in reality in my excursions on the lake in 
midsummer. 

We were approaching Geneva on one of the lake 
steamers from Lausanne. Over the dark hills Mont 
Blanc lifted its billowy form in the crimson sunset; 
the shadows on the green mountain-sides were dark- 
ening. We had passed the gardens and chateau of 


The Queer Little Maid That 8aio Lights. 209 

Baron Eotliscliild and the bowery estate where Lord 
Byron is said to have lived for a time as the guest of 
some noble family. 

On the deck sat a silent, grave-looking man. As 
Geneva came into view, white, with green roof-gar- 
dens, its towers gleaming in the reddening sunset 
under dark Saleve, this man arose and walked to and 
fro, with an abstracted look on his face. 

He is apjDroaching a spot that is very terrible to 
him,’^ said a friend to me. My friend was a student 
in Geneva. 

I bent my eyes on the broken old man. He stooped 
and fixed his eyes on the English garden as if his 
heart longed for companionship there that he would 
never know a^’ain. It was a disappointed look; he 
dropped his eyes, his lips quivered. He turned and 
went into the saloon, and rested his head against 
some pillows on a long seat. 

I looked at him, and noted his white, wrinkled 
face and his half-closed eyes. There was a help- 
less expression in his hand as it lay beside him as a 
thing disused. 

Wh..6 is the gentleman’s history?” I asked of 
my friend, the student. 

He is not a Genevese,” said he. Hq came here 
from America, bringing with him a daughter and a 
son, who entered the schools. 

The daughter, whose name was Annette, was a 
joyous, generous, happy-hearted girl. Her presence 
14 ' 


210 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


carried cheer, and she became the heart of a circle 
of students such as gather here for special education. 
She canie here to study Swiss kindergarten methods, 
although the old man said that he did not intend 
that she should teach, ^ except for charity.’ 

You would not think to-day that any part of 
Lake Geneva ever freezes over.” 

He cast his eyes towards the tree-shaded island 
where stands Eousseau’s statue, and which divides 
the Rhone and the Arve. 

I looked out on the city in the pause he had 
made. 

It was the day of the fete of the schools, and at 
night the lake would be illuminated ; tlie night scene 
would be inconceivably beautiful ; the lake would be 
on fire, as it were, with lanterns in boats; already 
boats with fiags and lanterns were multiplying. This 
would be the night of nights of the year. 

■ ^ Ho,” said I, answering my friend’s question ; 
it looks now as if it would be endless summer here.” 

In cold winters the lake partly freezes,” he said, 
and forms ice bridges, over which the people pass, 
and on which they have their merriment in pleasant 
weather and moonlight evenings. 

But between the stretches of solid ice is thin ice, 
made so by the swift passing of the undercurrents 
of the lake. The tide suddenly rises and falls here, 
and in the courses of the currents the ice wears thin. 
^ Beware of the ice over the currents,’ is a common 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights, 211 

caution in the merry sports on the winter borders of 
the lake. 

It had been serene weather. The borders of the 
lake had frozen ; the atmosphere had become milder, 
and the ice over the currents was being worn. 

The bright winter days and evenings were made 
joyous by parties who engaged in the sports on the 
ice. 

The student party of which Annette had become 
the life frequented the ice-field late in the after- 
noons. 

Several Swiss students said to the American 
girl, ^ Beware of the ice over the currents ! ’ 

‘ I^ever you mind,^ she answered ; ^ I am safe 
anywhere ; any ice will sustain me. Danger follows 
those who dream of danger.’ 

The girl delighted in daring. She would cross 
the forbidden places like a sylph — a form in the air. 
She was light and graceful, and her adventures 
raised a storm of cautions, which pleased her in her 
merry moods. They called her ^ the American girl,’ 
which meant that she was venturous; that she could 
cross thin ice, and feel it bend under her light feet, 
and escape unharmed. 

The old man, her father, said to her on the even- 
ing of an ice sport : ^ Be careful, careful, Annette. 
The Swiss people are wiser than you; they would 
not warn you of danger, were there none. They are 
daring, but they do not trust the thin ice over the 
current. They know the lake better than you.’ 


212 Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons, 

She kissed him, and said, ‘ Never worry; there 
is no danger.’ 

She joined the student party at a house on the 
landing. Her father followed her. 

^ We will meet here again at eight o’clock,’ 
she said to the students as they glided away on their 
skates. 

‘ And I will wait for you here,’ said the old 
man. ^ The house is warm, and the open doors com- 
mand a view of the lake. There will be a moon to- 
night. I like to see the moon come up over the 
mountains.’ 

He sat down and saw the short twilight fade, 
and the lights come out in homes along the lake. 

It had been an unusual day. The air was warm 
and still. The mellow sunshine had caused the ice 
to weaken, and beyond the ice fields lay open water 
and broken ice. 

The unusually mild air filled the ice-fields with 
people. 

The old man watched the merry skaters from 
the landing-house in the dusk. 

It used to be said of Annette that she ^ knew how 
to carry a feather.’ She wore a long white feather 
in her hat; and this could be followed by the eye 
as it seemed to fly among the merrymakers hither 
and thither. 

The old man watched it in the dusk, as it 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw Lights. 213 

glided over the firm ice which was outlined by the 
people. 

‘‘ It swept out suddenly over the open space of 
the thin ice, the ice over the current. The people 
stood still. There went up a shout as the white 
plume gained the firm ice again. 

It ventured out again on current ice. Then 
the old man could not see it. 

He rose up and walked to and fro. It was dark 
now, and the moon like a night sun was glimmering 
on the white summits- of Saleve. The lake was 
alive with people going their swift ways independ- 
ently. 

‘‘ He walked to and fro, peering into the far dis- 
tance to hear the cheers again that should greet the 
daring of Annette. They did not come. 

The bell struck seven. Some skaters came in, 
and the old man heard one of them say : ^ Some one 
has disappeared. The current ice is worn. Some- 
thing has happened.’ 

The old man called after them, ^ Has there been 
an accident ? ’ 

^ ^ Some one has disappeared. It was seen.’ 

^ Was it a man ? ’ 

^ Ho — a woman.’ 

^ A young woman ? ’ 

^ A girl.’ 

The old man walked to and fro again. 

The moon filled the lake with splendor. 


214 


Jaok^s Carrier Pigeons. 


The clock struck eight. 

One of the student party came back to the land- 
ing-house. 

^ Where is Annette ? ^ asked the old man. ^ She 
promised to be here at eight.’ 

^ She will join us soon/ said the student. 

Other students of the party returned to the land- 
ing, but Annette did not come. 

But there came another report that some one 
had disappeared in the current ice, and a voice said, 
^ It was the American girl.’ 

The old man uttered a cry. The student party 
rushed back to the lake to look for Annette. A boat 
was pushed out on the ice to be of use on the current 
ice, if some one had disappeared. 

Two of the student party besides Annette had 
not returned to the landing. One of these was. her 
brother, and the other one of the most intimate of 
her girl friends. 

The brother came at last. He dropped upon the 
floor of the landing-house, and said, ^Annette has 
disappeared — I fear something has happened.’ 

The old man uttered another cry, and said, ^ If 
Annette — if it is Annette who is lost, my heart is 
dead.’ 

He called a Swiss boatman, and the two went 
out on the ice under the moon amid the glimmering 
lanterns. 

The old man, the student party, and the Swiss 


The Queer Little Maid That Saw lights, 215 

boatman all met in the landing-house at ten o’clock, 
and brought with them several skaters who had seen 
a girl with a white plume glide away from the rest 
over the current ice into the darkness, and disap- 
pear. 

There came with them Annette’s intimate friend. 

^ She left me,’ said she, ^ to make a circuit of the 
current ice. She did not return, and I was alarmed, 
and went to call her brother.’ 

The boatman went out again with the brother. 

Midnight came, and they returned ; but Annette 
never came back. 

They searched for her body on the shores of the 
lake, but it was never found. Neither the melting 
of the ice, nor the tides of the spring, nor the sum- 
mer’s tempests, brought it to land. 

The old man wandered about the city of the 
watchmakers day after day as one in solitude. He 
sometimes went to the hill park overlooking the junc- 
ture of the Ehone and the Arve, and passed the day 
among the green trees. 

I met him once there. The clear, green glacial 
water of the Ehone purifies the earthy water of the 
Arve as the two rivers unite and fiow together ; and 
he said to me on that day, ^ The one river purifies 
the other; it is a parable.’ 

And I thought that the life of poor Annette was 
also a parable, as I left the old man at the bright 
overlook. 


216 


Jade’s Carrier Pigeons. 


Society is full of thin ice ; there are ways that 
are safe to all, and ways under which runs the swift 
tides of danger. 

One may pass over these thin places with swift 
feet, and not fall or sink — but there is danger. .1 
have thought of that parable many times ! 

We came to the landing, and the old man left the 
boat, and went his solitary way. 

The excursionists and tourists left the boat, some 
of them to pass over the current ice of life, some 
to keep the ways that are safe to all. 

Winter is in the air. Beware of the thin ice over 
the current, on the lake and stream, and follow the 
ways that are socially safe to all. 


CHAPTER XIL 


CAPTAIN" PIGEON^S STORY. 

On Christmas Eve, Captain Pigeon told a story 
that pled for the hearts of all the world. It touched 
the heart of Jack, which from his love of the poor 
wounded bird which had been given him in his sick- 
ness, now began to wish to help every one, and only 
to be happy in so doing. He could help himself live 
without sympathy, but not without giving out his 
own sympathy to others. 

A BOX OF NARD. 

Something is the matter over at the old house ; 
the birds are all flying about the room. You must 
go and see. I think the bird doctor is sick.” 

This was the summons that came to me one morn- 
ing — ^but I must tell you the whole story. 

I owned a house and garden in the decaying part 
of the town. The place was once elegant and 
historical, but there were mosses on the gables now, 
and the shingles had shriveled. The swifts still 


218 


Jack's Carriei^ Pigeons, 


came to the old chimneys and the robins to the high 
elms, and the bent old apple trees, kept in row from 
the grape-vine arbors to the sea. The place had been 
beautiful in times faded and gone. It was a kind 
of Ghetto now; a colony of Jews from Trieste had 
rented the old homes in the neighborhood, and their 
children literally filled the street. I had rented the 
house to one Levi from Trieste. He had a daughter, 
one of the most beautiful children that I ever saw. 
He was poor, evidently, and he began a strange busi- 
ness in the mansion. 

If the lady does not object,’^ he said, on renting 
the house, I will take a new kind of boarders.’’ 

Who ? I asked in some alarm. 

Birds, if the lady does not object. I did so 
in Trieste. I doctor birds, and take care of the birds 
of people who shut up their houses. I am an old 
man, but I can do that, and Mizpah will help me. 
Birds love Mizpah.” 

I had never heard of such an occupation before. 
Let the old place for a boarding-house for birds, to 
old Levi ! I hesitated. But why not ? The caring 
for pet birds was a kindly emplovment. Many peo- 
ple were at a loss what to do with their birds during 
summer vacations. The old trees made the place an 
ideal hospital, and, from the Jew’s benevolent face, 
I was sure that no one would more carefully or ten- 
derly care for the little messengers of songs and 
wings than Levi. 


Captain Pigeon'' s Story, 


219 


^^Does the lady object?’^ A kindly feeling lit 
up his face, like a bow on a cloud. My heart went 
out to him. 

“ No, Levi of Trieste,’’ said I. But the house 
must be kept neat.” 

Mizpah will keep everything very neat,” he said. 

Mizpah sat there with luminous eyes full of won- 
der. She was a girl of some fourteen years. 

Levi and Mizpah opened the old house, and placed 
in a window the simple sign: 

OAEE TAKEN OF PET BIKDS. 

At first Levi had but few boarders ; but he caused 
some sick canaries to recover, and taught a parrot 
to talk wonderfully while renewing her faded plum- 
age. Gradually he made a reputation as a bird 
nurse, and in less than a year the lower house was 
full of birds, some of them pets of rich families who 
were traveling abroad, and some of them charity 
patients — the sick birds of the poor. 

Mizpah came to see me on little errands. She 
seemed like an honest girl and I came to love her. 
One day she said to me: 

Why am I different from other children ? Why 
is my father called a Jew ? ” 

I repeated the old saying, Blessed is he who 
blesses a Jew.” 

But why should you say that ? ” she asked. 


220 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons, 


‘‘ Why should you not say ^ Blessed is he who blesses 
anybody M You would not remember me on Christ- 
mas Day; I would remember you.’^ 

I saw her heart had deep feelings, and I only said: 

Christian love includes all.’’ 

I called on Levi one day as he sat amid his birds. 

Friend,” said he, if I should die, have a little 
care for Mizpah and the birds. I cannot live many 
years.” 

The birds seemed listening to hear him talk. 1 
could see how some of the little creatures had learned 
to love him. 

One day a messenger came to tell me that there 
was something wrong in the old house. I went to 
the place to investigate the matter, and there met an 
extraordinary scene. I found the house locked in 
the middle of the morning and the windows were 
filled with birds fiying wildly about, evidently fright- 
ened by their new freedom, while children were 
gathered before the house, looking in at the windows. 
How had the birds become free? The doors were 
locked, and the house was silent. I knew the place 
well, and so went to the shelving cellar doors, opened 
them, descended into the cellar, and ascended the 
stairs, at the top of which the door was open. 

I found Levi lying on the fioor. The old man’s eyes 
were closed, the small part of his face that his patri- 
archal beard did not cover was very white. I spoke 
to him; he did not answer; he was dead. 


Cajptain PigeorCs Story. 


221 


I reasoned that he had opened the many cages 
to set the birds free for an hour, and that the excite- 
ment of caging them had caused some rupture of the 
heart, or that some sudden news might have brought 
on paralysis. Mizpah was not there. This seemed 
strange, for I had thoiig’ht her to be a faithful girl. 
I called the police and laid the matter before them. 
They found that Mizpah had been sent to spend some 
days with another family from Trieste, that this 
family had been arrested for receiving stolen goods, 
and that she had been arrested with them and 
taken to a Reformatory. 

The funeral of one almost without friends is 
a very simple thing, and the sad scene was soon over. 

The distressing event would have soon passed from 
my experience, had there not been left on my hands 
the sick birds of the poor. I gave the old place over 
to a teacher for a garden for the J ewish chil- 
dren who had been compelled to play in hot 
weather on the brick sidewalks in the unshaded 
streets. Then I went to visit Mizpah in the Refor- 
matory of a neighboring town. The prison was like 
a palace, surrounded by woods and ^rreen meadows. 
I was taken at once to a private room, full of books, 
pictures and birds. Mizpah was sent to me. She 
looked more beautiful than ever. Her dark eyes 
filled with tears as she met mine, her olive com- 
plexion fiushed. 

I never thought that you would find me here. 


222 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons. 


When did you see father last ? Poor father, poor 
father! I had a home in his heart, and his heart 

must have broken when I did not come back 

Mizpah, your father is dead,’’ I said. 

Dead— O God ! ” she cried, bursting into tears. 
Then she added, You do pity me, don’t you ? You 
may not believe me, but it is not in my heart or 
blood to steal, nor to hide stolen things for others. 
But I was frightened and knew not what to do. 
When they came upon us, I strove to hide the things 
to save my friends. I did wrong and I told the law- 
yer all. ITe said that there was nothing left for me 
but to plead OTilty. And I am here, and my poor 
father is dead in the fields.” 

She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed 
biterly. Then she suddenly asked : 

What led you to come to me here ? ” 

Christ.” 

He led you to come to me ? I wish I could 
believe in Him as you do, if He really led you to 
come to me.” 

I talked with her long and earnestly. I knew 
not whether she had really told me the truth or not 
about the taking of the things, but I try to believe 
the best of every one. 

I did not see her again at the Reformatory ; circum- 
stances prevented. I heard afterward that after she 
had completed her term a wealthy family became 
interested in Her and adopted her. 


Captain Pigeon^ s Story. 


m 


Some years passed. I received an invitation to 
a wedding; it was that of the young Jewess. She 
was to be married to a man of high-standing. I 
felt uneasy. Had the beautiful girl deceived him, 
or was she guilty of what had been laid at her door ? 
I determined to see her. 

A princess could hardly have received me with 
more grace, and her whole conduct had an atmos- 
phere of perfect sincerity. 

Mizpah/^ said I, does the man you are to 
marry know all the past ? ’’ 

All ; all of my life and heart,’’ she replied. 

Still my conscience was not at rest. 

He knows that you are a Jewess ? ” I asked. 

He has long known that.” 

He knows that your father was very poor ? ” 
Yes, I told him that — and about the birds, and 
the old house amid the trees.” 

I was coming to a question from which I shrank. 
And does he know that you once lived at the 
Reformatory ? ” The words came hard. 

He is the lawyer to whom I confided everything,” 
she replied. 

The true character of my friend rose into clear 
light now. I reproached myself for lack of confi- 
dence and hard questions, and I gave her the heartiest 
of congratulations and told her I trusted her future 
would be brighter than her past. 

Mizpah married, and went as mistress to a lovely 


224 


Jade’s Carrier Pigeons. 


home. She had many friends. But life has changed 
with me. I live in the autumn of my years. 

One Christmas when the world was white with 
snow the bell rang. A package was left for me. 
I sat down by the fire to open it. There was a box 
in the package — a white box and very beautiful. 
I took the cover from the box. There was a note un- 
der the cover. 

My Dear Friend. — A Jewess may not be ex- 
pected to remember the birth of Christ. But I am 
glad that He was born — and it was you that told me 
first of the love of Christ. I send you a remembrance 
to speak to you to-day from my heart. It is a box of 
nard. Unseal the second cover, and you will find 
a parable of what Christ’s life now is to me. You 
led me into the light. Mizpah.^^ 

A box of nard ! ” I thought. What is a box of 
nard ? ” I lifted a silver bover. A perfume arose 
like a purple cloud, sweet as the memories of blessed 
deeds. It filled the room; it fastened itslef every- 
where. I closed the box, and put it aside with 
tears. But the perfume lingered. The fiowers in 
the room seemed to have breathed it in ; the curtains 
hung with it; it was more subtle than anything 
that I ever met — it seemed like an odor of memory, 
an odor of joy, an odor of promise. But it was as 
nothing to the joy tliat filled my heart at the thought 
that I had served another. 


225 


Cajptain Pigeon's Story, 

So runs the story told me by an old woman at 
the end of a beautiful life. The story is essentially 
true, though I have but given the leading incidents. 

The poet followed good Captain Pigeon with a 
London story, which was in substance a true one. 
It was called : 

THE C HILDAS FEET OH THE BEIDGE. 

’tis sympathy that saves/'' 

I. 

’Tis London old, a vanished day. 

And o^er Westminster Bridge, where gray 
The fog has rolled the long hours through, 
The lamps burn white, the lamps burn red. 

My lady flies from Huckster Place, 

Her eyes are flxed, and, cold her face. 

Peers through the night-fall like the dead. 

A happy bread boy passes by, 

A jolting tray upon his head; 

A penny for a loaf of bread ! ’’ 

My Lady hears the cheerful cry, 

And lifts her thin white hands as mad; 

Once better days my lady knew : 

Four farthings make a penny, lad ; 

I have but two, I have but two. 

O God, I have but two ! 

15 


226 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 

IL 

[A.11 fire and mist Trafalgar Square 
Loomed o’er the bridge, and blazed afar 
The Abbey with its golden glooms, 

Its altar lighted with a Star. 

St. Martin’s bells hung high in air 
In darkest chambers of the night: 

She heard the hurrying to and fro, 

She heard afar the bells of Bow, 

She heard the evening calls to prayer, 
She saw the towers their lanterns light, 
And to the Bridge My Lady came. 

And stood beneath the torches’ fiame, 
To see the happy faces pass 
With Christmas gifts ! Alas, alas. 

Each holly was to her a yew ! 

She dwells upon the voice that said, 
^^Eour farthings for a loaf of bread, 

A penny for a loaf of bread ! ” 

A ha’penny was all she had. 

Four farthings make a penny, lad. 

I have but two, I have but two. 

God pity me, I have but two ! ” 

III. 


’Twas Christmas Eve, the tide ran low. 
She heard it beat beneath the feet 


Captain Pigeon^s Story, 227 

Of hurrying crowds from either street, 

The crowds that come, the crowds that go, 
And vanish like the South wind^s snow. 

She gazed down the abyss, but heard 
Nor sound of oar, nor boatman’s word : 

No star was there, no lamplight’s ray: 

There black the tide rolled on its way. 

Good-by, sweet life, good-by,” said she, 

This world has nothino* more for me. 

This world is nothing more to me. 

The tide is coming in from sea. 

And I will go and meet the tide. 

And let its waters cover me ! ” 

Down from the hurrying crowds alone, 

My Lady climbs, alone, alone. 

And finds beneath the bridge a stone 
And sits upon the low tide’s stone. 

And wider yet the darkness grew. 

She heard the echoing voice that said 
A penny for a loaf of bread ! ” 

And whispered to the winds that blew 
Four farthings make a penny, lad, 

God pity me, I have but two ! ” 

IV. 

She heard the hurrying steps go on, 

Into the night, into the night. 

But fewer grew the feet at last. 

And faster, faster rippled past 


228 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


The black cold tide ; and there Big Ben 
She heard strike deep the hour of ten, 
And then eleven strokes, and then 
The footsteps almost ceased, and still 
Became the night, like Martyr^s Hill. 
The tide was rising: lo, afar. 

The lifting fog revealed a star 
That on the cloud a white light threw. 
The tide was rising:, steps were few. 
She bowed her head, and only said — 
A pennv for a loaf of bread. 

Four farthings make a penny, but 
God pity me — I have but two ! 

God pity all that have but two ! ” 

V. 

The tide is rising fast, and swells. 

And it is near the midnight hour. 

The old bell-ringer seeks the bells 
Of gray St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields 
To ring for earth the Christmas chimes. 
As he has done for other times, 

And mighty is the power he wields. 

The Bow Bells wait, and many a tower 
Stands listening for the midnight hour. 
When to the Bridge two shadows came, 
A crying child, a mother thin, 

Who holds the child’s thin hand within 
Her o^vn starved hand, and hurries on. 


Ca])tain Pigeon^s Story, 


229 


I’m hungry, mother, give me bread.” 

My Lady heard the child overhead, 

And heard the mother’s voice that said 
To-morrow will be Christmas morn ! ” 

O mother, mother, give me bread. 

I am so hungry now; '' but plead 
The child in vain, that hunger led. 

The mother only sobbed and said — 

I’m hungry, too : a ha’penny 
Is all I have for you and me. 

And your sick father. Pity me, 

O God in heaven, pity me. 

Does any mortal hear my cry : 

Come pity me, or I shall die. 

O Earth, O Heaven, pity me ! ” 

VI. 

My Lady heard the midnight cry. 

Awoke the mother in her breast. 

A ha’penny,” she said, Ah me, 

I’ll give her my ha’penny. 

The mindful of the poor are blest, 

And then I’ll hurry back and die. 

Four farthings make a penny, and 
A penny buys a loaf of bread. 

That she shall eat when I am dead.” 

She climbed the bank. She called, Come 
back! 

I’ve too, a ha’penny,” cried she. 


230 


JacFs Carrier Pigeons. 


’Tis all I have, good woman, all, 

And all I have I give to thee, 

I cannot hear thy poor child cry/’ 

The mother raised to Heaven her eye, 
The star was shining in the sky. 

And fell upon the waters black, 

God bless you. Lady, — Heaven seems n 
May thy name. Lady, never die ! ” 

VII. 

My Lady stood and saw the star 
Deep mirrored in the Avave : afar 
The Bow Bells trembled in the air. 

Then Big Ben struck the midnight hour 
And music filled St. Martin’s toAver, 
And all the atmosphere grew bright 
As soft Avinds rent the clouds of night, 
The happy mother hurried on. 

And left my Lady there alone 
In the first music of the morn. 

She heard the river’s undertone, 

She heard the waking Avorld, and said. 
Four farthings for a loaf of bread. 
And she has four and I have none ! ” 

VIII. 

Mv Lady’s thoughts were of the boy. 

My Lady’s heart thrilled full of joy. 


Captain Pigeon^ s Story. 231 

The mighty Bridge the high tide laved, 

The full stars in the waters shone 
And there My Lady stood alone, 

And said, O Christ, I, too, am saved ! 

IX. 

Who feeds the hungry shall be fed, 

Division multiplies the bread, 

And he the most to life who gives 
From life the noblest gifts receives. 

My Lady saw the mellowed morn 
Rise red o^er old St. PauFs, upon 
The ringing spires, the singing domes. 

The happy wilderness of homes. 

The windows green beneath the snows. 

The doorways green with mistletoes. 

And some heart by the Christ child led. 

For her a Christmas table spread. 

The two times two we give is more 
Than two times two we hold in store. 

X. 

A new world oped to her; she heard 
Hope singing in each song of bird, 

The hedge-rows bloomed in blissful air. 

The cherry red, and white the pear, 

The street cries in the balmy June 
To her became the heart’s own tune, 


232 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons- 


The cries of Troope, Troope, every one/’ 
The merry call of Buy a broom/’ 

Of Cherry Eipe/’ Sweet lavender/’ 

Of Flowers a-growing and a-blowing/’ 
The carter’s shout at rising sun, 

The huckster’s voice from morn till noon, 
And all was music unto her. 

In them she heard life’s deep waves, flowing. 
And all she learned from life she turned 
With voice melodious into art. 

And to her glorious soul was given 
As an immortal gift from Heaven 
The power to speak, the power to sing. 

The power to cheer the hapless king. 

The power to utter London’s heart. 

XI. 

My Lady lived : praised by the throne. 

Her genius like the night star shone. 

And once again the Bridge she passed. 

When she had won the world in fame 
And rang the city with her name. 

She heard the sobbing of the waves 
And said as there her eyes she cast, 

My friends, ’tis sympathy that saves. 

All that I am to that is due: 

Four farthings make a penny; and 
I gave a child my tw^o ! ” 


Captain Pigeon^ s Story. 233 

XIL " 

Self-sacrifice is never lost 
But proves its own and true reward; 

He who to others gives the most 
Shall have the most from men and God. 

And he who seeks another’s needs 
Sows in his soul the blessed seeds 
That blossom in immortal deeds; 

’Tis Sympathy that Saves.” 

Riddles can he made to preach and teach as well 
as to amuse. On Christmas night the sailors and 
their friends were promised a novel entertainment. 
We must tell you of it, for it belonged to the story- 
telling methods of happy influences. 

Jack was getting well now. 


CHAPTEE XIIL 


THE EHYMIHG RIDDLER. 

In early Xew England days people used to sit on 
red settles evenings and tell riddles. They some- 
times made lively the riddling by throwing fagots 
into the fire to make the sparks fiy. Sometimes they 
burned powder candles, or candles in which had been 
dropped a quill of powder. They watched the candle 
burn on such merry evenings, and the explosion 
caused great excitement. 

Sailors were fond of riddles, and that sailor was 
regarded as good company who had many riddles to 
tell. 

Such a sailor was one who bore the name of the 
Khyniing Eiddler,^’ one of those poets of the ships 
that have now passed away with the wooden ships 
themselves. 

Of a ship he would say: 

I hie me oft to foreign parts. 

My body holds an hundred hearts, 

I plough, I plunge, I slide, I glide. 

And when I’m not in haste I ride,^^ 

234 


The Rhyming Riddler, 


235 


Christmas night was a still cold evening, the 
moon hung over a steel-like sea, and the fire drew 
most people indoors from the cold. The Rhyming 
Eiddler sat down on the settle after the old way. 
Father Taylor himself sat down by the fire to read 
and to rest. 

I have a new riddle for you to-night,’’ said the 
Rhyming Riddler, and it will be ten o’clock before 
any of you guess it. Come now, put your think- 
in^? caps on ; here it fiows — 

^ A sailor launched a ship of force, 

A cargo put therein of course, 

'No goods had he he wished to sell. 

Each wind did serve his turn as well. 

No pirate dreaded, to no harbor bound. 

His strongest wish that he might run aground/ 

Who was that, captain? Father Taylor, you 
ought to know.” 

Say it again! ” said Father Taylor. 

The sailor repeated the riddle. 

Father Taylor thought, and threw fagots on to 
the fire which raised little volcanoes of sparks, but 
the good man could not divine who that captain 
could have been, who was bound for no port, and 
wished to run aground.” 

Hine o’clock came and no one had suggested the 
name of such a captain as had been described. 

I have a riddle,” said another poet of the sea, 


236 


Jach^s Carrier Pigeons, 


and when yon guess mine, I will be about able 
to tell you yours. So here it flows : 

Adam, God made out of dust. 

But thought it best to make me flrst — 

So I was made before the man. 

To answer His most holy plan — 

My body He did make complete. 

But without arms, or legs, or feet — 

My ways and actions did control, 

But to my body gave no soul — 

A living being I became. 

And Adam gave to me a name. 

I from his presence then withdrew 
And more of Adam never knew, 

I did my Maker’s law obey, 

Hor from it ever went astray. 

Thousands of miles I go in fear 
But never on the earth appear. 

For purpose wise, which God did see, 

He put a living soul in me. 

And when from me that soul had fled, 

I was the same as when flrst made. 

And without hands or feet or soul, 

I travel on from pole to pole — 

I labor hard by day and night. 

To fallen man I give great light. 

Thousands of people, young and old. 

Do by my death great light behold. 


The Rhyming Riddler, 


237 


Nor right or wrong can I conceive, 

The Scriptures I cannot believe, 

Although mj name therein is found 
They are to me as empty sound — 

No fear of death doth trouble me. 

Real happiness I ne’er shall see — 

To heaven above I ne’er shall go. 

Nor to the grave, nor hell below. 

Now when these lines you closely read 
Go search your Bible with all speed. 

For that my name’s recorded there 
I honestly to you declare.’ ” 

The answer to the first riddle was Noah; to the 
last a whale ^ which included the story of Jonah. 

Captain Pigeon had a riddle to tell — it included 
the whole outline of the ancient and a part of mod* 
ern Hebrew History. 

1. A hid, a hid, my father bought 
For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

2. Then came the cat, and ate the kid. 

That my father bought 

For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

3. Then came the dog, and bit the cat. 

That ate the kid, 


238 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 


That my father bought 
For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

4. Then came tiie staff, and beat the dog, 

That bit the cat. 

That ate the kid. 

That my father bought 
For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

5. Then came the fire, and burned the staff, 
That beat the dog, 

That bit the cat. 

That ate the kid. 

That my father bought 
For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

6. Then came the water, and quenched the fire, 
That burned the staff. 

That beat the dog. 

That bit the cat. 

That ate the kid. 

That my father bought 
For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

Y. Then came the ox, and drank the water, 
That quenched the fire. 


The Rhyming Riddlev,. 


239 


That burned the staff, 

That beat the dog, 

That bit the cat. 

That ate the kid. 

That my father bought 
Tor two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

8. Then came the butcher, and slew the ox, 

That drank the water. 

That quenched the fire. 

That burned the staff. 

That beat the dog, 

That bit the cat. 

That ate the kid, 

That my father bought 
For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

9. Then came the angel of death, and killed the 

butcher. 

That slew the ox. 

That drank the water. 

That quenched the fire. 

That burned the staff. 

That beat the dog, 

That bit the cat, 

That ate the kid, 

That my father bought 


240 


JacTt's Carrier Pigeons. 


For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid: 

10. Then came the Holy One, blessed be he! 

And killed the angel of death, 

That killed the butcher. 

That slew the ox. 

That drank the water. 

That quenched the tire, 

That burned the staff. 

That beat the dog. 

That bit the cat. 

That ate the kid. 

That my father bought 

For two pieces of money: 

A kid, a kid. 

The following is the interpretation : 

1. The kid, which was one of the pure animals, 
denotes the Hebrews. The father, by whom it was 
purchased, is Jehovah, who represents himself as 
sustaining this relation to the Hebrew nation. The 
two pieces of money signify Moses and Aaron, 
through whose mediation the Hebrews were brought 
out of Egypt. 

2. The cat denotes the Assyrians, by whom the 
ten tribes were carried into captivity. 

3. The dog is sjunbolical of the Babylonians. 

4. The staff signifies the Persians. 


The Rhyming Riddler. 


241 


5. The fire indicates the Grecian Empire under 
Alexander the Great. 

6. The water betokens the Ko lan, or the fourth 
of the great monarchies to whose dominions the Jews 
were subjected. 

7. The ox is a symbol of the Saracens, who sub- 
dued Palestine, and brought it under the caliphate. 

8. The butcher that killed the ox denotes the 
crusaders, by whom the Holy Land was wrested out 
of the hands of the Saracens. 

9. The angel of death signifies the Turkish 
power, by which the land of Palestine was taken 
from the Franks, and to which it is still subject. 

10. The commencement of the tenth stanza is 
designed to show that*God will take signal vengeance 
on the Turks, immediately after whose overthrow the 
Jews are to be restored to their own land, and live 
under the government of their long-expected Mes- 
siah.’’ 


16 


CHAPTER XIY, 


Jacks's kindergarten Christmas. — presents made 

OF SHELLS. AN EXTRAORDINARY GIFT. THE 

QUEER BRAKEMAN. 

Frau Susanne had told Jack that in certain Swiss 
and German towns, the children made presents to 
their parents, teachers and the children, instead of 
expecting them from others. 

The principle is this,’’ said the good w^oman, 
that there is greater joy in giving than in receiv- 
ing. Giving m^akes the sonl grow. Always give 
yonr life to what makes the soul grow, J ack, and you 
will find this world just the best place that could have 
been made. The creation is not finished yet, and we 
should help it on.” 

Frau Susanne cherished this pleasing philosophy, 
and Jack saw what she said was true. She came in 
one day before Christmas to see Jack at the close of 
his Jewish school. 

Why not have a kindergarten Christmas here. 
Jack ? ” she said. I mean for your little schools.” 

Frau Susanne, we’ve nothing to give.” 

242 


Jack^s Kindergarten Christinas, 243 

Nothing, Jack, my boy,’^ said a Jewish sailor, 
present. IVe a barrel of oranges on the ship that 
I brought from the Spanish main. Ul give the 
oranges to you. Jack, and you shall let the boys and 
girls have them to make their parents and teachers 
happy after the Swiss plan.’’ 

Jack talked of the matter in the Honie. 

An old farmer from Salem was present, hugging 
the fire. 

I will send you a barrel of apples, Jack, to go 
with the oranges which the Jew promised. I never 
made a Christmas present before in my life, not of 
that size, but that idea fetches me. I like the plan of 
giving everything and receiving:* nothins:.” 

A good workwoman, Nora, was present. 

And I’ll see to mittens for the sailors v^ho are 
about to put forth into the winter weather. You 
hold the yarn, J ack, and I will wind It into balls. I 
can make the knitting needles fiy, like a spry young 
girl. I like the idea of giving everything on Christ- 
mas and receiving nothing. My life has been that 
kind of Christmas.” 

They told Mother Taylor of this new kind of 
Christmas, in which every one should give, and no 
one receive, and all those who gave should be made 
happy. 

And all that receive will be left,” said the great 
hearted woman, then I’ll give the little I’ve got. A 
queer Christmas it will be,” 


2U 


Jacl^s Carrier Pigeons. 


Jack announced his new kind of Christmas, in 
which all were to give and none to receive. The 
sailors received the plan in a very merry mood, and 
each found something in his sea chest that he could 
spare for such an occasion of universal good will. 

The children of the school caught Jack’s spirit, 
and they formed a plan to make presents to the peo- 
ple connected with the Port Society. What should 
the presents be — what could they make out of noth- 
ing? 

They went to Mother Taylor. 

What could we get to make presents of ? ” they 
asked. 

Something that costs nothing.” 

Something that costs nothing would be no pres- 
ents at all,” said the wise woman. But there are 
some things that you can find for presents that you 
never thought of. They are wonderful pretty — but 
they will cost you time and trouble, and you will 
have to use your wits to put surprise into them.” 

What are they ? ” the children asked eagerly. 

sheiur 

Here was new light indeed. 

Shells sing of the sea,” she said. Periwinkle 
shells do — such shells make the landsmen think of 
the sailors in the storm.” 

Mother Taylor had touched the right chord of a 
new joy of Christmas. 

The school went shell gathering, The boys and 


Jach^s Kindergarten Christmas. 245 

girls were all alive to the effort, to give something to 
their benefactors this year. They gathered barrels 
of shells which bestrewed the coast. 

They made boxes of them; measuring sticks; 
strings of beads. They glued many shells that were 
inlaid with pearl on to boards for scones for the 
candles on Christmas night. The room should blaze 
like pearl. They made picture frames of shells, 
candlesticks, workboxes, measuring rules, and many 
fantastic ornaments. One boy made a clock case. 

If ever there was a happy school it was that. 

The boys and girls met evening after evening to 
make their ornaments. 

One evening an old sailor came in to see them 

making things.’’ When he saw some boys polish- 
ing shells that would sing of the sea, his heart was 
touched. 

I’ll do you two to that,” he exclaimed. I’ve 
got a peck of Black-Eyed Susans, and you may have 
them all. Put them in your shell work.” 

He saw that the girls were making shell flowers. 

I’ll tell you what it is now, girls,” said he, I’ll 
give the Black-Eyed Susans to you, and you may let 
the boys have them or not, just as you like.” 

Other sailors came in to see what Jack’s boys and 
girls were doing.” Some of them gave them conch 
shells which could be blown after the manner of a 
dinner Korn to call work folks ” in from the field. 
Many brought corals, some fan-corals. 


246 


Jaclc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


The sailors all became interested in the Christmas 
that was to be given. Some of them contributed 
things that they had made with jack-knives at sea. 
The room was filled with presents for Father and 
Mother Taylor, the kindergarteners, and the kindly 
folk of the Port Society. 

A week before Christmas a lively second mate of 
a well-known ship, who had made many voyages at 
sea, said — 

Jack, IVe seen what you are up to — and it is 
right good — I like the spirit of it. FTow keep still 
— mum’s the word. I am going to make you a pres- 
ent on Christmas night, that will open your eyes 
wider than they were ever before.” 

Not me — the Society.” 

No, you. Jack.” 

That would be receiving.” 

No, that would be giving on my part. I can’t 
give unless I have a receiver. And you could never 
guess what it is. Jack. It came to me on the sea. 
It will turn into gold in any port.” 

Jack’s mind was filled with wonder, but he looked 
into the sailor’s face silently. 

It came drifting to me on the water. Jack — gold, 
or as good as gold. It is like a garden of spices — or 
wild wood roses, or musk, or nard. The magi brought 
to Bethlehem a box of nard — didn’t they. Jack? 
Maybe I’ll remember you in that way. Don’t men- 
tion what I have been saying.” 


Jade's Kindergarten Christmas. 247 

The 'spirit of Christmas gre^v. When the Port 
Society heard what the young people were doing, 
they, too, saw that it would make them happy to he 
generous this year. So they began to collect cloth- 
ing, and to make cakes which contained many plums 
instead of a few. 

The rooms at Frau Susanne’s filled with gifts; 
every one was going to give this year ; no one thought 
of receiving. 

The Christmas night came. The rooms glowed 
like pearl. Generous people came from all the 
churches. Some of the fine people of old Boston 
Society were there. 

Jack distributed the presents. All gave and none 
received, that i^ none received in the spirit of re- 
ceiving. 

The sailors sang their merry songs. One of them 
sang Black-Eyed Susan.’’ 

Then old mate Gray, of whom we have spoken, 
rose up and rubbed his head. 

I think,” said he, that Jack ought to be re- 
membered. He is a right ready boy, and his heart 
all goes out of him, like the something that you can- 
not see in the alabaster box. See what I’ve brought 
him — he ought to- have it now — you young folks 
don’t know what it is — I’ve been keeping it long for 
some one — the best heart that I could find. That’s 
Jack’s.” 

There went up a great shout. The people saw the 
mate lifting a box in his hand. 


248 Jade's CavrieT Pigeons, 

He held it up, and opened the cover. Odor filled 
the room. 

There/^ he said, if you can find a port where 
that lump will fetch less than a hundred dollars, 
bring it back to me.’’ 

The old sailors shouted, but the young people and 
guests could not at first make out what it was that 
so perfumed the air, or caused the atmosphere to be 
come like a blooming garden. 

Attar of roses,” shouted a boy. 

Ho, no, my lad. You will have to guess again.” 

The wonder grew. 

Those who know don’t tell,” said the mate. ‘‘ It 
comes from a mine in the ocean — a living mine, and 
only one man who went down into that mine ever 
came back again.” 

The atmosphere grew heavy with the delightful 
odor. 

Jack’s eyes brightened. 

I know,” he answered. It is the ambergris.” 

That’s you, J ack, and it is your’n, and I never 
felt happier on any Christmas night than now. I’m 
so happy that I didn’t want anything for myself.” 

These were days of Sunday-school libraries and 
music books. Jack had few books. 

Hever you mind,” said Trau Susanne. A 
story told by the human voice is often better than 
one that is read, and there are people who can sing 
out of the heart from memory. I will sing you a 


JacTc^s Kindergarten Christmas, 249 

carol, Jack, on occasion, and I can get others to 
sing the hymns that have helped them niost.’^ 

Jack remembered Frau Susanne’s encouraging 
promise. 

After the Christmas exercises. Jack desired to have 
a story, and some poetry and music. There were 
seafaring people present who had heard of the stories 
that were told in the Mariners’ Home, which was a 
Holiday Home. 

There was a happy-hearted servant of all work in 
the Mariners’ Home, called Scottish Hora, of whom 
we have spoken. When she told stories the clock 
stood still, or the hour seemed to do so. As she was 
somewhat self-willed, she had many stories to tell; 
such people do. 

As Christmas approached she was led to promise 
J ack that she would relate some story, out of her 
own life,” by the driftwood fire. 

She was a widow now, a hard-working domestic, 
and as faithful as she was industrious. She had a 
true heart, and a brisk, merry way of talking. 

She was present at this new order of Christmas, 
with the mittens that she had knit of the yarn Jack 
had held for her to wind. 

The poet, too, was there. My friends,” said 
Jack, no Christmas is perfect without a story, and 
some of us have heard the stories told by our good 
friend, Mrs. Knox — Scottish Kora — who has given 
us ten pairs of mittens. She promised me that she 


250 


JacWs Carrier Pigeons. 

would tell her story some day. This is that 
day.’^ 

Scottish hTora, who was getting to be an elderly 
woman, now bobbed her cap border with surprise. 
But her heart was too kind to disappoint the people. 

So she said — I will tell you a story of a Christ- 
mas gift that once made me heart perfectly happy.” 

SCOTTISH Horae's story of the queer brakemah 

AND HIS CAROL WITH A HAMMER. 

^ora began her story in the following way: 

It all happened on the anniversary day of our 
wedding. I would put my opinion against the world 
then, that headstrong I was. We had been married 
two years — Jamie and I. We had had no wedding 
journey. So we thought we would celebrate the oc- 
casion by a journey to Hew York. 

I said to him on that day — to J amie, I mean — 
he has long gone now — it was good to me always that 
he was — I said to him in the depot, — 

^ Get the tickets, Jamie.^ He left me and came 
back with two long tickets, that looked like Christ- 
mas cards. 

There was a queer man who was at work about 
the cars. He did not seem to me then to have any 
sense at all. He asked us where we were going, im- 
pertinent like. 

‘ To Hew York,’ said I. 

^ In this car ? ’ 


Jack's Kindergarten Christmas, 251 

^ Yes, in this car/ 

^ It is a short journey that this car makes. Can^t 
you read ? ’ asked he. 

^ I am Nora Knox,^ said I. 

‘‘ ^ You be ? ’ said the brakeman. ^ Well one 
pebble on the shore is the same as another.’ 

^ An’ I’ve been so two years.’ 

‘ Do you mean that you are but two years old ? ’ 
asked he. 

^ Oh ! do I hear my own ears ? Two years old ? 
No, I mean that I am two years married, an’ we are 
on our weddin’ journey, an’ it is an impudent man 
that ye are to be askin’ me if I can read. What 
does that concern ye ? Sir, I will report ye to the 
conductor.’ 

^ You will ? Not oversoon. This car conducts 
itself. I sleep here nights. In this car the earth 
stands still.’ 

‘ Sir, when does this car stop ? ’ 

^ Stop ? It is stopped now.’ 

^ No, we are going — going like the wind, a-rush- 
in’ an’ a-roarin’, an’ ye a brakeman an’ don’t know 
your own business, or when a car is goin’ or stoppin’. 
What is your head for ? ’ 

I looked out of the car window into the dark. 
Cars were passing, which made it seem that the car 
I was in was in very rapid motion. I could seem to 
feel the car flying toward New York. 

^ Now, my good woman, whoever you may be,^ 


252 


JacKs Carrier Pigeons. 


said the brakeman, ^ I wish you well. This is a time 
when everybody wishes everybody well. I want you 
to tell me where you are bound to, and I am the man 
that can give you the advice you need. Where are 
you going ? ’ 

^ Nowhere, sir/ said I, indignant. 

^ Well, all that I can say is that this is the car 
that will take you there.’ He added, ^ Well, I’ll 
not report you, seeing it is Christmas-time.’ 

Jamie seemed a little confused and asked: 

^ At what time do we get there ? ’ 

^ You are iiiere now.’ 

^ Nora, don’t talk any more,’ said Jamie. ^ You 
are excited. The man means well, but he don’t 
know. Good-by,’ said he, as a gentle hint to the 
grinning brakeman. 

The man took off his hat and bowed, and said, 
‘ May your journey be a prosperous one. I hope that 
you will not meet with any accidents. I’ll sound the 
wheels as I go along.’ lie went out into the darkness. 
Presently a wheel under the car was heard to ring, 
and a loud voice said, ^ The ring of the wheel is 
true ! ’ Then another wheel sounded out like a bell, 
^ The ring of the wheel is true ! ’ and soon far away 
in the car-yard a retreating voice broke upon the air : 

“ ‘ The ring of the wheel is true ! 

The ring of the wheel is true ! 

And all is well ; may the morning bell 
Bring a Christmas merry to you.’ 


Jackh Kindergarten Christmas, 253 

^ He is singing a carol/ said I. ^ He made it 
up himself. He pla/ed it on the wheels.’ 

^ And it don’t seem as though we were moving/ 
said Jamie. ^ It all sounds hollow outside.’ 

A train swept past with flashing lights. 

^ Yes, it’s a-moving fast enough we are,’ said I. 
^ This must be an express-train. It don’t stop any- 
where.’ 

^ That’s so — you are right there,’ said the brake- 
man, who was returning from some night duty. ^ It 
don’t stop anywhere.’ He banged the door, which he 
had very slightly opened, and taking a can of oil 
from a place near the front seat, he went out, knock- 
ing upon the car-wheel with his hammer and sing- 
ing: 

‘ The ring of the wheel is true ! 

The ring of the wheel is true ! 

And all is well ; may the morning bell 
Bring a Christmas merry to you.’ 

^ I tell you, Nora,’ said Jamie, St sounds all 
hollow outside. How does that same brakeman keep 
along with us ? He must be travelinp* in the baggage 
car. But I haven’t heard the train stop, have you ? ’ 

^ Wo, J amie, for sure.’ 

^ Wo, and there are no passengers getting on and 
off, and the conductor hasn’t been around once to 
punch our tickets. We must be past South Fram- 
ingham by this time, and we shall come to a stop in 
Worcester without fail/ 


254 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


^ Nora, darling/ said Jamie, ^ if you will not be 
offended, I have a suggestion-like for you. I’ll put 
it mild, Nora dear. Do you think you was quite 
civil, yourself, to that man, the brakeman ? ’ 

^ Hoot! Jamie, an’ didn’t he ask me if I could 
read? No gentleman would ha’ put to us such a 
question as that. He as much as asked me if I was 
ignorant. Now, there are some things that no 
human woman can stand, an’ me great-aunt was a 
lady, an’ the wife of a knight.’ 

^ Yes, Nora ; but the man spoke in a kindly tone 
at first, as though he had something more to say. 
Perhaps he had some good word for us in his heart ; 
not many men have unkindness in their hearts in the 
days of the evergreens. You wouldn’t have spoken 
thus sharp to me, if I had asked you such a question, 
would you, Nora ? ’ 

^ No, J amie ; never, never I An’ I will never 
speak uncivil again to anybody. But it hurt me to 
be treated as ignorant with all my fine clothes on. 
There comes that brakeman again. IIow does it 
happen that he is out there ? The cars must have 
stopped.’ 

The brakeman looked in at the door. 

^ You are still on your journey, I see,’ said he. 

‘ How near are we to Worcester? ’ asked Jamie. 

^ Worcester ? ’ 

^ Yes; where is tliis car going? ’ said Jamie. 

^ Nowhere ; you said that was where you want- 
ed to go. You’ll get there, sure.’ 


JaclUs Kindergarten Christmas, 


255 


^ Now, my good man/ said Jamie, ^ Nora is 
sorry that she spoke to yon in that way. SheJl 
never speak that way any more to you. What time 
will this train arrive in New York? ’ 

^ This train ! this train ! There ain’t no train.’ 

The brakeman went out again, whistling. 

‘ He must ha’ been drinkin’ a drop too much,’ 
said I. ^The Lord forgive me if I am uncharitable.’ ” 

All was still. The sky was cold and clear. The 
many footfalls lessened; people fewer and fewer 
were vanishing into the night. Now and then a car- 
wheel rang out as it was struck by the hammer of the 
brakeman. 

A woman and a little girl came into the car. 
They stopped at the stove. They were poorly 
dressed, and the woman seemed to be afraid. They 
stood by the stove silently for a time, and then sat 
down near it, and locked themselves in each other’s 
arms, and the woman began at intervals to sob, while 
the girl fell asleep. The sob touched my heart. 

^ It’s some mother in distress,’ said I to Jamie. 
‘ I can’t stand that; I must go to her.’ 

The woman looked up to me in surprise. Sym- 
pathy had not come to her often. 

^ My good woman,’ said I, ^ where are you go- 
ing?’ 

‘ To New York,’ said the woman. ^ But I’U 
have to wait until morning. I am in trouble, and 
my heart aches so that we came out of the waiting- 


256 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 


room into here. This will be a hard Christmas for 
ns. My husband went to New York to look for 
work, and he fell sick there, and they have taken him 
to. the hospital. It is pneumonia, and he is bad, and 
they have sent for us. We shall have only just money 
enough to buy our tickets, and heaven only knows 
what we will do when we get there. We are no 
beggars; we have all done the best we could. It 
will be a sorry Christmas for us.’ 

^ Let me take your hand,’ said I. 

^ Don’t mind me ; it eases my heart to cry. Oh, 
were there only such a thing as help in this world — 
help from any^vhere! The joy everywhere seems to 
mock us. If husband were to die, I would want to 
die, but for her,’ and she drew the child close to her 
bosom, and pressed her lips against her forehead. 
^ The children of the poor are as dear as others,’ she 
said, ^ and it hurts me so to see my child neglected, 
and half clothed and fed, when all the world seems so 
full of the joy of living.’ 

A bell rang out on the air. Jamie started up. 
Now all the heavens seemed ringing. What were 
the bells saying? 

‘ O come, all ye faithful, 

Joyful and triumphant. 

Come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem ! 

Come and adore Him, 

Born the King of angels.’ 

The woman’s looks changed. Her face was up- 
lifted, and she sang with the ringing of the chimes ; 


Jack's Kindergarten Christmas. 


257 


“ ‘ Venite adoramus I 
Venite adoramus! 
Domine ! ’ 


^ Nora/ said Jainie. 

^ Yes, Jamie/ 

^ Did ye hear the chimes ? They sound like the 
Arlington Street church chimes in Boston at mid- 
night. This is not Worcester; this is not Spring- 
field. I would almost think that we were still in 
the car-yard right opposite Arlington Street church, 
in Boston.’ 

^ Oh, Jamie! an’ I would that we were! I 
don’t want any weddin’ journey.’ 

Why not, Nora?’ 

^ I only want one thing to make me perfectly 
happy.’ 

^ What is that, Nora ? ’ 

^ I only want to give our tickets to New York to 
this poor woman an’ this little girl. It would make 
my heart leap an’ dance if I could only do that ! ’ 

^ And what is to hinder ? ’ said the brakeman, 
who had now appeared at the door. 

^ The conductor,’ said I. 

^ There isn’t any.’ 

^ If I could give these distressed people our tick- 
ets, an’ just go back, to-morrow would be a Christmas 
in my heart ! ’ said I. 

The brakeman came back. He held up his lan- 
tern. In his hand was a wreath of creeping- jenny 

17 


258 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


and colored immortelles. ^ See/ he said, ^ that is for 
my little girl. Her mother is dead. I don’t go 
home until morning ; I sleep here. Listen ! ’ 

What were the chimes saying now ? 

‘ “ When marshaled on the nightly plain,’ 

How the bells broke on the keen air, bringing to 
memory the old hymn words : 

‘ “ Hark ! hark to God the chorus breaks, 

From every host, from every gem I 
But one alone the Saviour speaks, 

It is the Star of Bethlehem.’ 

^ My good man,’ said Jamie to the brakeman, 
^ what did you mean when you asked us if we could 
read f 

^ Come outside, you and your wife, and I will 
show you. It will be a good lesson to you.’ 

We stepped out of the car onto a very empty 
platform ; around us was silence and shadows. The 
stars were gleaming in the sky, and there were but 
few echoes of feet in the streets and squares. The 
brakeman held up his lantern, and said, ^ Read that 
board.’ 

The board was hung from the side of the car in 
which we had been sitting. 

I strained my eyes, and the brakeman almost 
hung his lantern close to the board, in the shadows. 

^ What does it say ? ’ asked the brakeman. 

I read aloud, This car donH go.* 


Jac¥s Kindergarten Christmas. 259 

I threw up my arms, aud asked, ^ Brakeman, 
oh, brakeman, where are we ? ’ 

^ You are in Boston, just there, and nowhere 
else/ 

^ But where have we been traveling all night, 
that is what I would like to know — where have we 
been ? ’ 

^ In your imagination/ 

^ Haven’t we been out of Boston at all ? ’ 

^ Ho, only when your mind has been in the air ; 
it requires no ticket to travel there/ 

^ But, my friend, I saw the car,goin’ ! ’ 

^ You saw other cars passing by; it caused the 
illusion/ 

^ Haven’t we started ? ’ 

^ Ho/ 

^ And now we will do it,’ said I, in a happy tone. 

^ Do what, Hora dear? ’ asked Jamie. 

^ Give a Christmas present to the poor woman 
and child in the car that will make us have a joyful 
morning, without any need of any one wishing us to 
be merry.’ 

^ And what will the present be, Hora dear ? ’ 

^ Our tickets to Hew York.’ 

^ And not go ourselves ? ’ 

^ We’ve been. I’ve had my weddin’ journey, 
and I am after being satisfied. You said you were 
going to Hew York on a weddin’ journey to please 
me, bless your heart. Well, we’ve been, and got back 


260 


JacKs Carrier Pigeons, 


to Boston ; anyhow, we are here, safe and sound, and 
I will be perfectly happv if I relieve this poor woman 
in her distress.’ 

^ You are a jewel, Nora. Here is my ticket. 
Give it to the woman for a Christmas card.’ 

I put the two tickets into the hand of the woman. 
The brakeman caught the spirit of the act, and 
said: 

^ Here, I will add a dollar out of my own earn- 
ings,’ and he put the money into the woman’s lap, and 
went out into the night whistling. 

There was a ringing of car-wheels ; bells of 
wheels as it were, and the tones echoed farther and 
farther away along the car-yard, and a voice was 
heard singing a made-up tune: 

‘ The ring of the wheel is true ! 

The ring of the wheel is true ! 

All, all is well ; may the morning bell 
Bring a Christmas merry to you ! ’ 

It was the brakeman’s Christmas carol.” 

Those Christmas cards that we gave to the poor 
woman made for me the happiest Christmas of my 
life. Is that a kindergarten story ? ” 

Yes, Nora,” said Frau Susanne. That is a 
true kindergarten Christmas story.” 

Jack now turned to the poet for a story. 

The so-called poet read one of his ballads, in his 
own way. He asked the children to watch for the 


Jack's Kindergarten Christmas. 


261 


refrain, and to repeat it whenever he raised his 
finger. It was a touching story that he had to read 
in this way, which held the attention of all, the 
repetition of the refrain by the children adding to 
the interest of the recitation. It is sometimes well 
to read Ibalads in this way. 

THE LOST FISHERMAlSr IN CHALEUR BAY. 

The birds no more in door-yard trees are singing. 

The purple swallows have left the eaves, 

And, thwart the sky, the broken clouds are winging. 
Shading the landslopes bright with harvest sheaves. 
Old Hannah waits her sailor-boy’s returning, 

His fair young brow to-day she hopes to bless ; 

But sees the red sun on the hill-tops burning, 

The flying cloud, the wild, cold gloominess 
Of Chaleur Bay. 

Five strikes the clock. 

The silver crown has touched her forehead lightly 
Since last his hand was laid upon her hair; 

The golden crown will touch her brow more brightly 
Ere he again shall print his kisses there. 

The night comes on, the village sinks in slumber, 
The rounded moon illumes the water’s rim; 

Each evening hour she hears the old clock number, 
But brings the evening no return of him 
To Chaleur Bay. 

Seven strikes the clock. 


262 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


She heard low murmurs in the sandy reaches, 

And knew the sea no longer was at rest. 

The black clouds scudded o’er the level beaches, 
And barred the moonlight on the ocean’s breast. 
The night wore on, and grew the shadows longer; 

Far in the distance of the silvered seas 
Tides lapped the rocks, and blew the night-wind 
stronger. 

Bending the pines and stripping bare the trees 
Bound Chaleur Bay. 

Nine strikes the clock. 

Then Alice came; on Hannah’s breast reclining, 
She heard the leaves swift whistling in the breeze. 
And, through the lattice, saw the moon declining 
In the deep shadows of the rainy seas. 

The fire burned warm; upon the earth was sleeping 
The faithful dog that used his steps to follow. 

’Tis almost midnight,” whispered Alice, weeping. 
While blew the winds more drearily and hollow 
O’er Chaleur Bay 

Twelve strikes the clock. 

Then Hannah told old tales of France: strange 
stories 

Of Cinq-Mars’ fall ; of Eichelieu’s grand dreams ; 
Of fair chateaus; of art’s triumphal glories 

In old Versailles; of brave Jacques Cartier’s 
schemes ; 


JacKs Kindergarten Christmas, 


263 


Of lost Port Koyal and its winter palace ; 

How her dead husband’s family had shone 
In arts provincial. Glowed the cheek of Alice, 
And half her thought went wandering to the 
Phone 


From Chaleur Bay. 


No organ stands beneath a bust of Pallas, 

No painted Marius to the ruin clings. 

No Ganymede, borne up from airy Hellas, 

Looks through the darkness ’neath the eagles’ 
wings. 

But the sweet pictures from the shadowed ceiling 
Reflect the flrelight near old Hannah’s chair, — 
One a fair girl with features full of feeling. 

And one a boy, a flsher, young and fair, 

Of Chaleur Bay. 


That boy returns with humble presents laden. 

And when the bells ring out at early morn. 

To the old church he hopes to lead the maiden. 

And with one jewel her white hand adorn. 

Now Hannah drops her cheek — the maiden presses, 
He will return when come the morning hours. 
And he will greet thee with his fond caresses. 

And thou shalt meet him diademed with flowers.” 

Sweet Chaleur Bay! 

One strikes the clock. 


Gray was the morning, but a light more tender 
Parted at last the storm-clouds’ lingering glooms. 


264 : 


Jade's Carrier Pigeons. 


The sun looked forth in mellowness and splendor, 
Drying the leaves amid the gentian blooms, 

And wrecks came drifting to the sandy reaches. 

As inward rolled the tide with sullen roar ; 

The fishers wandered o’er the sea-washed beaches 
And gathered fragments as they reached the shore 

— Of Chaleur Bay. 

Pine strikes the clock. 

Then Alice, with the village maideus roaming 
Upon the beaches where the breakers swirl. 

Espied a fragment ’mid the waters foaming. 

And found a casket overlaid with pearl. 

It was a treasure. How happy he who claimed it,’^ 
A maiden said : ’tis worthy of a bride.” 

Another maid the ocean’s dowry ” named it. 

But gentle Alice, weeping, turned aside — 

Sad Chaleur Bay! — 

Ten strikes the clock. 

And went to Hannah with the new-found treasure 
And stood again beside the old arm-chair; 

The maids stood round her radiant with pleasure. 
And playful wove the gentians in her hair. 

Then Hannah said, her feelings ill dissembling. 

Some sailor lad this treasure once possessed ; 

And now, perhaps,” she added, pale and trembling, 
His form lies sleeping ’neath the ocean’s breast 
In Chaleur Bay.” 

Twelve strikes the clock. 


Jade’s Kindergarten Christmas. 


265 


Now on her knee the opened box she places, 

Her trembling hand falls helple&s to her breast, 
Into her face look up two pictured faces, — 

The faces that her sailor-boy loved best. 

One picture bears the written words, My Mother,’’ 
Old Hannah drops her wrinkled cheek in pain; 
Alice ” — sweet name — is writ beneath the other, — 
Old Hannah’s tears fall over it like rain. 

Dark Chaleur Bay ! 

One strikes the clock. 

The spring will come, the purple swallow bringing. 
Fair Easter’s bloom where Christmas snowflakes 
fell. 

But nevermore the time of flowers and singing 
Will hope revive in her poor heart to dwell. 

Life ne’er had brought to her so dark a chalice. 

But from her lips escaped no bitter groan; 

They ’mid the gentains made the grave of Alice, 

And Hannah lives in her old cot alone 
On Chaleur Bay. 

Eleven strikes the clock. 

Frau Susanne ended the novel entertainment by 
singing an ancient carol. Jack’s Christmas was 
long remembered — every one had given, and received 
in giving. 


CHAPTEE XV; 


A MYSTERY. THE PIGEOH COMES BACK. A WRECK. 

Christmas had passed at the Mariners’ House, 
Holiday Home. There had been heavy storms on 
the coast, and gray mists hung over the ocean and 
headlands. The short shaded days and long nights, 
with .storms and fogs, shut out the sun from the 
Square. 

Jack was fully recovering. He walked about the 
house on a crutch for a time, then put his crutch away. 
He still slept in the cock-loft. 

One gray morning, when a great storm had been 
followed by snow, sleet, thick fogs and all kinds of 
weather. Jack awoke and saw something fluttering 
at the frost-glazed window. He had seemed to 
dream that he had heard a fluttering there during the 
night. He rose, went to the window, and opened it. 
A pigeon was there. It was the messenger bird 
that he had fondled in his sickness and that had 
showed him so much of the goodness and provi- 
dence of God, and the beauty of a true heart. 

He took in the bird out of the chilly wind. He 
held it up, and said to her : 

266 


A Mystery, 


267 


So you have come back, my beauty — come back 
to see Jack again — how is your wing? ’’ 

A .surprise followed the question. To the wing 
was tied a small roll of paper. 

The bird spread out her wing and he untied the 
roll. He unrolled the paper and read : In distress 
— on the reef of Norman s Woe — send help or we are 
lost/' 

Jack ran downstairs with the message. 

The old sailors read it. 

How did the bird find the way here in the fog ? 

Preacher/^ said an old sailor, there was light 
above the fog yesterday. Did you not notice that at 
times the sun almost shone through ? The bird may 
have been at the window all night.’’ 

That I think,” said J ack, I dreamed or thought 
I heard a fiuttering at the window.” 

We must hurry down to Gloucester,” said a 
hardy mariner, and give the alarm to the fishermen. 
The ship may be breaking up.” 

Three hardy sailors, two of whom had been off 
the banks,” started at once for Gloucester to try to 
find means for relieving the ship in distress. 

Jack gave the roll of paper to Father Taylor, and 
went out into the storm with the three sailors. 

Father Taylor went to the cock-loft, seized the 
bird, hid her in the bosom of his great coat, and went 
after them, talking to the bird as he hurried on 
through the foggy streets. 


268 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons. 


You little creature/^ said lie, you have the 
heart of God. I love you for the sake of God, you 
darling, darling bird ! ’’ • 

It occurred to him that the message was not sent to 
the Mariners’ Home, but that the bird had taken it to 
her own home, and finding no one to receive it, had 
brought it to the place where her wing had been 
healed. 

The fog had lifted when the party reached 
Gloucester. They gave the alarm, and boat after 
boat was put out into the thinning fog. 

The sichooner, for such she was, was found, 
and the crew were rescued. 

As the boats were pushing away from the reef, the 
captain said: 

Where do you hail from ? ” 

^^Froni the Mariners’ Home of the Boston Port 
Society,” said one of the men. 

That is strange,” .said the captain. How did 
you know that we were in distress ? ” 

The bird — the pigeon.” 

That is stranger — I sent the bird home — to 
Salem — my home is in Salem. How did ishe get 
to the Mariners’ Home, Boston ? ” 

She had been there before,” said Jack. She 
came there with a hurt wing, weeks ago.” 

That is mysterious — T sent her out about that 
time to return to her male and young, with a message 
to my wife, She must have been side-tracked in 


A Mystery, 


269 


the air. Something must have happened to her — 
a carrier pigeon always returns to her male and 
young.” 

They talked of the storm, of the running of the 
schooner on the reef, and of the wonderful rescue. 
A sudden gratitude seemed to come into the cap- 
tain’s eyes 

That was a bird of God,” said he. I wish 
I could see her again. She had a faithful heart.” 

The good preacher opened his weather coat. 

Here is your bird,” said he, whatever mysteries 
there may be about her, she has always carried a true 
heart.” 

I mind,” said the captain, that that other mes- 
sage tore her wing, and that she followed a flock of 
pigeonS' home. Do you keep pigeons at the Marin- 
ers’ Home ? ” 

Yes, thank heaven, we do,” said the preacher, 

and they help me in my Gospel work. That pigeon 
has been an evangelist.” 

They landed at the wharves amid rejoicing people. 

One thing puzzles me,” said the captain to Jack 
in an aside in the midst of the hurry, it is why the 
bird bore the message to you instead of taking it 
home where its mate and nest were. I will find out, 
and when I come to Boston, I will call at the Marin- 
ers’ Home and tell you all.” 

I wish I owned that pigeon,” said Jack. I 
am in love with the bird.” 


270 


JacTc^s Carrier Pigeons, 


I would give her to you/’ said the captain, 
were it not that I would not take a bird that has 
saved me from her mate and nest. It would be cruel 
— inhuman, so to speak. We should be just even 
to a bird. I wish, as I said, that I knew why she 
brought the message to you. I will tell you all 
some day. Jack; it will all be made clear, but what- 
ever the bird did she did with a true heart. Jack. 
I sometimes think that to be true-hearted is more than 
anything else in life. But I can’t talk of these 
things now — thank God — we are saved.” 

I wish I could rescue men always,” said Jack 
to Bather Taylor. Could you not get me a place 
at a light-house, where I could be on the watch out 
in the storm ? ” 

The rescuers returned to the Mariners’ Home, 
but the bird went with the captain. He, too, had her 
in his great frozen coat, and amid all of the hurry 
and excitement he did not forget the bird in his 
bosom. 


CHAPTER XYI. 


THE POET AND JACK. 

One day the poet came to see Jack. He kept 
an open heart, and Jack knew that he could entrust 
his confidences to that sanctuary. In his long sick- 
ness, the sailor boy had been thinking. 

I have been reading Benjamin Franklin,’’ he 
said, and he says that the purpose of life is to do 
good in the world. What good can a wayfarer like 
me do in the world? If I could become rich, I 
wo dd leave money to the Port Society.” 

But, Jack, my boy, the most useful men in the 
world have died poor ; they gave away their fortunes 
while they were living.” 

Jack seemed very much surprised and said: 

I had never heard of that before ; tell me of 
some of them.” 

The poet had a congenial subject in hand, and 
said: 

It is men who live rich for others, rather than 
those who leave riches for others, who have most 
benefited mankind, for there are riches that do not 

271 


272 


Jackh Carrier Pigeons. 


enrich, and honors that do not ennoble. Thomas 
Jefferson was born very rich for a man of his time. 
He possessed great estates. He supported a family 
of some thirty-five persons, and he helped all of his 
friends in their need. He died so poor that his 
beautiful mansion called Monticello would not more 
than pay his debts. The Declaration of Independ- 
ence, the purchase of Louisiana for the public 
good, and measures beneficent for the people were 
his riches. He never used public office for private 
gain; therein was riches. He sought the public 
good at his own expense ; therein was riches. What 
were an hundred estates compared to an influence 
like that! He enriched the world — what of it if 
he died poor 1 ’’ 

Have there been many like him?’’ asked Jack. 

You said it was this class of people who were 
truly rich. I am afraid that Father Taylor will 
one day die poor.” 

The poet continued, while Jack listened with in- 
tense interest: 

It is only success that is won through character 
that is true success, and that is success that comes 
through failure, and ends in poverty, and yet en- 
compasses the world with beneficent influences. 
Men love those who have given themselves to man- 
kind, without thought of wealth or fame. 

Kepler was poor, but he declared that he would 
rather be the author of the books that he had written 
than to possess the duchy of Saxony. Titles and 


The Poet and Jack. 


273 


wealth were light indeed to what he did for man- 
kind. His name lives with the stars , — he lived. 

You speak of Father Taylor. Pestalozzi died 
poor, full of cares, disappointments, and seeming 
failures. To found the public school in Switzer- 
land, that it might exhibit a new method of educa- 
tion for the world, he sacrificed everything. He 
wore poor clothes, and went hungry, gave what he 
earned to others, and was content to live on mush and 
milk. 

A prince sent his carriage for him one day, 
with an invitation to the castle. But the great apos- 
tle of education could have had no suitable clothes 
to wear. He entered the carriage, looked around, 
and saw a footman standing above him. 

^ What are you up there for ? ’ he asked. 

^ I do not know, sir.’ 

^ Get down, get down, and come and sit in the 
carriage with me, and we will consider the matter.’ 

He probably found that the footman had been 
placed up there for the want of education. He at 
least made an example of the common good that he 
was teaching. 

His doctor said that he knew when ^ the angels 
came to fetch the old man’s soul, — his face shone.’ 

^ See that that rosebush is planted over my grave,’ 
the old man said when near his end. He turned to 
the rainbow for consolation, when all else seemed to 
fail him, and wrote : — 

18 


274 Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 

“ ‘ O, bow of heaven ! O, bow of heaven I 
My soul, give thanks to the Eternal ! ’ 

Poor old man ! The marbles bloom for him 
everywhere now. It may be that Father Taylor 
will be long remembered. 

Over the court of the castle, where he taught 
poor children and pitied the prisoners, is written, 
under an old oak bough of marble : ^ In this castle 
Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi founded the first public 
school in the world.^ 

Kings have no records of such universal in- 
fluence as that. Yet he died poor, very poor, look- 
ing only for a rosebush for a monument. Every 
school in the world should crown his name with 
roses on his birthday. 

Washington made no charge for his services 
during the Revolutionary War, but he kept an ac- 
count of his expenses which he presented to Con- 
gress when he went back to Mt. Yernon, as a farmer, 
to make provision for his old age. He was com- 
paratively speaking a poor man. Samuel Adams 
died poor. Governor Kelson, of Virginia, spent his 
estate in the cause of liberty, and became very poor. 

Simon Bolivar gave a large part of his private 
fortune for the cause of the liberation of South 
America from Spain, and died in self-exile at the 
house of a friendly bishop. 

San Martin, the liberator of Argentina, Chili, 
and Peru, born in luxury, and schooled in the atmos- 


The Poet and Jach. 


275 


pliere of courts, was offered ten thousand ounces 
of gold for his services in Chili, as a gift of grati- 
tude. ^ I did not fight for gold,’ said he. He gave 
the offered present to the state to found the public 
library of Santiago de Chili. He died in voluntary 
poverty, going into exile in Europe, that Simon 
Bolivar might better carry on the work that he had 
begun. ^ The presence of a fortunate general in the 
country where he has gained power,’ he said, ^ is 
detrimental to the state. I have achieved the in- 
dependence of Peru. I have ceased to be a public 
man.’ He was the greatest of the creoles. Three 
republics crowned him dead. His motto was: — 

“ ' Seras lo que dehes ser, 

Y sinOy no seras nada, 

“ ‘ Thou must be what thou ought est to be, 

And without that, thou shalt be nothing.’ 

It is a motto worthy of the walls of the club- 
room and schoolroom. It would be a good one for 
you. 

I spoke of J efferson. He lived simplv for 
others. Poor though he died, the nation will ever 
turn back to the days of republican simplicity when 
luxury shall endanger the national life. The peo- 
ple are ^ known by the men they crown,’ and it will 
honor a statesman in any age, to quote the example 
of Jefferson as one that befits a true citizen of a noble 
republic. Such lives enrich.” 


276 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


J ack was receiving new views of life. 

A man/^ continued the poet, who seeks to live 
above others, for the purpose of exciting the envy of 
others, is cheap and poor, though he win wealth and 
fame. To do good for its own sake is happiness. 
When Prince Albert was dying, he said, ^ I have had 
wealth, power, and fame, but if these were all that I 
had, what would I have now ? ’’ 

But what can I do to be useful ? ’’ asked Jack. 

You have already rescued a crew of perishing 
sailors.’’ 

But it was the pigeon that did that.” 

Yes, Jack, but what caused that pigeon to come 
back to you ? ” 

I healed her, or helped to do it.” 

True, Jack, and it is those whom we lift up who 
lift us. You may learn a lesson from that messen- 
ger bird. You may be rich in influences.” 

Let me tell you what is rising in my mind,” 
said Jack. I could man the lifeboat and pilot her 
to the peril of life at some lighthouse station, when 
a ship lifted signals of distress, and then I could 
preach to the saved men. If we save the bodies of 
men it is easy to speak to their souls.” 

That is a noble purpose. Jack. You are already 
rich — for it is only the gold that does good that will 
last.” 

I will become a missionary to those in peril on 
the sea. The pigeon has sho^vn me my way ! ” 


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Father Taylor and his Pigeons. 


Page 277.) 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A FLOCK OF DOVES. 

One still day in fall, a company of English sail- 
ors had come np to the Square from Long Wharf. 
They were strangers in the city, and free from the 
imprisonment on board ship were eager to see the 
sights of the city that were new to them. Some of 
them went into the saloons near the wharf, and soon 
became hilarious.’^ 

Swaggering, joking, bantering, they were passing 
through the Square when a curious sight arrested 
their feet. 

An old man, bareheaded, and wearing great spec- 
tacles, came into the Square with a pan of corn. Im- 
mediately the air was full of wings, blue, white, 
and brown. The sailors saw that the birds were 
pigeons, and looked up to them in a merry mood 
to see them come down to be fed. 

The birds alighted on the old man’s tin pan, on 
his shoulders and arms, and one of them perched 
upon his head. The old man threw some of the corn 
bn the ground, and a part of the birds dropped down 
to eat it there. 


277 


278 


JacKs Carrier Pigeons, 


It is tame, them pigeons be/’ said one of the 
sailors to the old man. What makes them all so 
friendly, the corn % ” 

Good treatment. Jack,” said Father Taylor, for 
the old man was the sailor preacher. Eight treat- 
ment wins the world. This is the Mariners’ Home, 
Jack. Go in, one and all, and we will treat you 
well, and try to do you good. Come in to-night and 
hear me preach. I may not be great as a sermon- 
izer, but the Lord has a message for you which he 
has committed to me.” 

‘‘ Ah, come along. What are you bothering here 
for ? ” said a rude seafarer. We are on shore for 
fun, and it is only one day of it and one night of it 
that we will have.” 

When the pigeons had eaten the corn they flew up 
again to the roof of the tall building, except one. 
That one continued to sit on Father Taylor’s 
shoulder. 

He is waiting for more corn,” said one of the 
sailors. 

Ho, no,” said Father Taylor. He is pigeon- 
pecked, cut out as it were from the company of the 
rest of the birds. I do not know why it is theie are 
some creatures that get cast out. Heaven forbid 
that any such should be cast away. The bird hovers 
around me because I protect him.” 

There was a sermon in what Father Taylor had 
said, though he did not see it. Some of the men 


A J^lock of Doves, 


279 


felt their hearts softening towards the preacher 
whom this solitary bird owned. 

lt7ight is coming on/’ said Father Taylor, and, 
boys, it will be better for you to come back here, 
after you have seen the town. Keep your money for 
your families — happiness comes from things that 
money cannot buy. The people whom you are likely 
to meet who will seek to gjt your money away from 
you are no friends to you — they would do nothing 
for you after your money is gone.” 

We must have some fun,” said one of the lead- 
ers of the company, all after a long, hard voyage. 
Come on ! ” 

The sailors followed him. 

They called at the counters along the way where 
liquors were sold and lost their wits. A quarrel 
arose among them in one of the shops, and the police 
arrested them for disorderly conduct. 

Have you any friends in the city?” asked one 
of the policemen. 

Hone,” said the sailors. 

Only one,” said one of the men. 

Who is that ? ” asked the policeman. 

It is — well I do not know his name — an old 
man with a pigeon on his head. He has a dove-cote.” 

Who told you that he was your friend ? ” 

The pigeon, sir.” 

That was Father Taylor of the Port Society. 
If we will take you back to the Mariners’ Home will 
you follow his advice until you leave the port ? ” 


280 


JaclhS Carrier .Vigeons. 


All took off their hats. 

‘‘ That we will, sir, and may Heaven keep ye, 
the gentleman that ye are,’^ said the leader. 

The policemen led the way to the North Square 
and left the disorderly sailors in the charge of 
Father Taylor. 

The preacher received them as brothers, and 
preached to them from the text : Who are these 
that fly as doves to the windows ? ’’ 

As the leader of the jovial sailors turned away 
from the door of the Mariners’ House the next morn- 
ing, he said to Father Taylor: I am going out into 
the hard world, but I am asking God for a new soul 
■ — that I am — you shall hear from me again.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A CAT Iisr THE PIGEOH HOUSE. 

Ohe day the sea captain from Salem, whose 
schooner had been rescued from the reef of Xorman^s 
Woe, came to Boston and spent the night at the Mar- 
iners’ Home. It was deep winter now. He was 
hailed by the seafarers there who had heard of the 
wreck and especially by those who had been told 
the story of the wonderful pigeon. 

He brought the bird with him. 

^^Here, Jack, my hearty,” he said to Jammie, 
have brought her to you, and I am going to leave her 
in your care. Her mate is dead and I am about put- 
ting out to sea again.” 

In the evening the sailors gathered in the recep- 
tion room before the fire. It was a wild night. 
Shutters banged and windows rattled, and the clouds 
flew scudding over the moon. The boys ” came in 
early, and some of the sailors said to the Salem cap- 
tain: 

Explain to us now the mystery of the pigeon.” 

I will do that later,” said the captain. 

281 


282 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons. 


Apples were set in rows before the fire, corn was 
popped in a popper,’’ a new thing for them, and 
stories of the far seas were told, of frigate birds, 
albatrosses, stormy petrels and seamews. 

At last Jack related the wonderful story of the 
wonderful pigeon, holding the bird in his hand. 

The bird did not seem to hear, for she hid her head 
under her wing silently, while the sailor lad told 
as much of her story as he knew. 

And now, captain,” said he, you must tell 
the rest. Why did not the pigeon fiy home to her 
mate and squabs on the stormy day, instead of her 
coming here ? ” 

She did, my lad.” 

Then why did she come here ? ” 

Ah, she was that faithful — let me tell you. Jack, 
and all — there was a cat in the pigeon-house. The 
cat had eaten the squabs. The house was closed; 
the doors were fastened, my wife had gone to the 
city. There were no lights in any rooms; every- 
thing was silent there.” 

Had the cat eaten the male ? ” 

Ho, he has been seen since. He, it is likely, 
had gone out wandering over the country to try to 
find her.” 

That is marvelous,” said J ack, and is it your 
opinion if he had found her, that he would have told 
her that the cat had eaten their young ? ” 

You have got me there, Jack. Who c^an say ? 


A Cat in the Pigeon House, 


283 


But when she fovind her young dead, and her mate 
gone, and the house closed, where next should she 
fly. Jack?’’ 

To the window of her next best friend, captain.” 

That she did, Jack. Heaven bless you for your 
large heart; that she did. She mounted into the 
thin mist and made a bee line for you. Ah, ’tis 
a sorry bird that she is now — with her head under 
her wing.” 

Pass her around,” said the sailors, pass her 
around.” 

The captain held her up. But her head remained 
under her wing. 

The nails of her feet seemed to be sticking into 
my hands,” said the captain, and her feet were 
cold.” 

He tapped the bird on the head, but there was 
no motion of her head or wing. 

That is strange,” said he. I do believe that 
the bird is dead.” 

It was so. The messenger bird would mount into 
the skies over the land and seas no more. 

^^Do you think that bird had a soul. Jack?” 
asked the captain. 

Jack choked. 

Here take her,” said the captain — have her 
stuffed and carry her with you — it will bring you 
good luck, J ack, only to look at her, when you are in 
doubt what to do or where to go. That bird had a 


284 


Jaclc’s Carrier Pigeons. 


faithful heart, Jack. There are some birds and ani- 
mals that it makes us better to remember.’’ 

The sailors passed the dead bird from one- to an- 
other, and each had some remark of genuine good- 
heartedness to make. 

That sight calls out of us the best that is within 
us,” said one old salt, of but few words. 

So it is always,” said the preacher, when we 
give our hearts to any of God’s creatures.” 

“ He prayeth best who loveth most, 

All things both great and small.” 

Jack went up the stairs smoothing the feathers of 
the dead bird as it lay in his hands. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SHIP PIGEON'S. THE EAST MESSAGE. 

The carrier pigeon had not only taught young 
Jack the lesson of the spiritual life, and so became, 
as it were, a living parable to him, but was also lead- 
ing him to see a way that he could be most useful on 
the sea. 

English sea captains were at this time giving 
great attention to inventions for saving life on the 
sea — to rockets, cork buoys, mortars, rafts and like 
means of bringing sailors to land from wrecked 
ships. 

The captain who had been saved by the means 
of the pigeon presented some carrier pigeons to J ack. 
He sent them to him by stage coach one day, and 
Jack received them with delight and added them to 
the colony of birds in Father TayloPs wonderful 
pigeon-house. 

I am going to raise a flock of carrier doves,’’ he 
said to the preacher, and I will make their home 
so happy that they will all return again.” 

And therein is a secret of life, my boy. You 

285 


286 


Jack's Carrier Pigeons, 


have found it out — the heart goes hack again to a 
happy home whether it be a man’s heart or a pigeon’s. 
One of the greatest duties of life is to make a happy 
home. But what will you do with your pigeons, 
Jack ? ” 

I will use them for life-saving stations.” 

Jack began to study the new inventions for life- 
saving stations. He procured rockets which he 
learned to use for signals of distress, and he in- 
vented a curious buoy of cork and sail cloth. 

Jack became an assistant at the Mariners’ House. 
His pigeons multiplied. He gave them to the Glou- 
cester fishermen and to sailors from Boston who 
would meet perilous waters off the banks. 

He sought to invent a rocket that would shine 
out in the sky like a star and long hold its light. He 
called this rocket the Star of Bethelehem,” for 
among the hymns that the sailors loved to sing was 
Henry Kirke White’s religious experience as told in 
a hymn that bore that name — 

“ Once on the stormy seas I rode, 

The wind was high, the night was dark, 

The ocean yawned, and rudely 

The wind that tossed my floundering bark. 

Deep horror then my vitals froze. 

Death-struck I ceased the tide to stem, 

When suddenly a star arose — 

It was the Star of Bethlehem.” 

Jack’s interest in life-saving found him a place 
as an assistant at the lighthouse off Portland Head 


Ship Pigeons. 


287 


at last, and when he left the Mariners’ Home he took 
the carrier pigeons with him. 

They will return/’ said he to Father Taylor, 
if I keep them away from here a year. The heart 
forgets not a happy home — it will come back again.” 

A year passed. 

It was a fall of storms. There had been great 
wrecks. Father Taylor had thought of Jack in 
these days of raging, roaring coasts. A year had 
passed since he went away. 

One day there came a strange bird to the pigeon- 
house. It bore a slip of paper on its wings. The 
sailors opened the window of J ack’s old room in 
the loft, and it came in. 

They detached the paper from its wing, and hur- 
ried to Father Taylor — it read: 

The ship cannot live^ and I can never reach the 
shore on this side of life. I will meet you on the 
other shore. Take care of my birds. The sailor 
that the policeman brought back has a new soul. 
He says, ^ God bless you. Father Taylor.’ 

Yours forever, 

Jack.^^ 

Father Taylor sank on his knees, holding the note 
in his hand, and said: 

The bird comes back to her home. Blessed 
are they who make happy homes for all hearts, 


288 


Jack^s Carrier Pigeons, 


whether they be human hearts or those of the ani- 
mals of the field or the hirds of the air. Jack, Jack, 
you cannot hear me now, but I will never forget 
thee/^ 

He went out into the square. The sky was blue, 
and full of the upward wings of the pigeons as the 
birds were about to make their daily excursion into 
the country. 

As he watched their glimmering wings, he said : 

They are a part of my church, and they have 
taught me how to preach as I never could have done 
without them. If I had children, I would teach 
them to make little brothers of the unprotected ani- 
mals and birds. I would make the swallow’s nest 
sacred to a school, as the Hebrews made it a part of 
the altar. O Jack, we will never forget thee. Jack.” 

The old Horth Square has changed. The pigeon- 
house has gone, and Father Taylor has long slept in 
Mt. Hope Cemetery. Boston long loved to recall 
what he preached to the sailors and what he did for 
them, and there were some who especially loved him 
because he was loved by the birds, and made the 
roof of his simple temple a parable of living wings. 

The ideas of Elizabeth Palmer Peabody may now 
be seen in Boston embodied in half an hundred 
kindergarten day-schools and many kindergarten 
Sunday-schools, in the Elizabeth Peabody House, 
and in Charles Bank, of the sand gardens, which 
I wish my readers would visit in summer time. 


Shij) Pigeons, 


289 


May I also wish that some of my readers might 
imitate poor Jack’s plan of a Sunday-school for 
wholly neglected people ? • The education of the 
spiritual faculties after the Gospel teaching is the 
noblest thing in life ; wealth to it is dust, and fame a 
bubble. Live for the things that live, and for the in- 
fluences that multiply and grow. 

Perhaps this volume may have some suggestions 
for such work. 

Help every one and hinder none. 

Life brings us no experience however hard 
But we may glorify by noble attitude. 

’Tis those weVe lifted us will lift at last 
And every enemy we change into a friend 
Will bless us with the angel of his thought, 

When comes the flnal hour. Help every one 
And hinder none. 

Each hour we think 

Of others more than self, that hour will li"'e, 
And every lowly sacrifice we make 
For others’ good shall make life more than self, 
And ope the windows of the soul to light 
From higher spheres. So bear thy cross with joy. 
For thee, shall evermore be worlds to come. 

And melt the clouds in arching irises 
Before the uncurtained sun. Help every one. 
And hinder none. Forgiveness thee forgives 
And makes thy life divine. 



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